


Double-Blind (Get Me Back In the World)

by navaan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bisexual Tony Stark, Canon Divergence - Avengers (2012), Clothed Sex, Clothing Kink, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Getting Together, Identity Porn, Illustrated, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, One Night Stands, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Pre-Avengers (2012), Romance, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 07:22:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12906996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan
Summary: Shortly after being defrosted, Steve meets a handsome stranger at a party and has the certain epiphany that sex is a good way to reconnect with the world that is now so strange to him. Because one thing that hasn’t changed is that sex is simple. That the man seems to hate the very thought of Captain America makes it even easier for some reason.Or the one in which Steve sleeps with someone called Henry Hellrung. Although - not really.





	Double-Blind (Get Me Back In the World)

**Author's Note:**

> So this is what happens when I set out to write a short porny fill for the “one night stand” square on my Bingo card - I find myself with a fic beginning of 6000 words suddenly and it turns into a BB.  
> Come on, clearly the MCU section needs more messed up identity porn like misunderstandings. Because everything does.
> 
>   
> 
> 
> Caz made absolutely amazing art for the story and you can see her art [in this post](https://t.co/peLGNvUwIy). Go and leave her some love for it, because it’s just so wonderful. Tony’s surprised face is simply the best. XD
> 
> Art is embedded in the story and links to her post too.
> 
> Thank you so much for working with me Caz. This was a lot of fun and it was a big help to me to have you around! Thank you so much for the cheerleading and help and the beta reading, but MOST OF ALL THE BEAUTIFUL ART. ;_;

“You should go out,” was what Fury had said. “Get used to the times, Cap. Meet the century head on.”

That had not been an order, of course, but the kind of friendly advice that people were prone to give him these days and Fury’s grave expression had told Steve that his moping had been noted and analyzed.

Meet the century head on.

It sounded like a thing Captain America would do, but after he’d been set up in his own space, given a schedule of check-in times and a list of training facilities he could use if he felt like working off some stress, the one thing he found he did not want to do was go and face the world. He could deal with SHIELD and the army like organization of it. He had never actually been made to be a “good” soldier and follow orders to the t, but just weeks ago - it didn’t matter that years had passed for everyone else - he had been fighting a war with people he trusted at his side and suddenly all of them were ripped away from him by death and lives lived without him.

There were people here at SHIELD fighting the good fight. And for that reason the chances of connecting were much greater here than out there. The SHIELD facilities felt oppressive and closed off sometimes, but the order and focus the schedule provided at least gave him something to do with himself and the mission statements were all familiar. They could use someone like him here. They could use a symbol like Captain America on their side. Fury left no doubt that he had plans for Steve.

The silence of his own new and not lived in apartment with the contemporary designed furniture and lots of equipment that felt out of place to him, was much worse than the oppressive cage that was a SHIELD facility. He had learned how to use the microwave easily enough and he was already appreciating the convenience of internet and mobile phones, but it was a steep learning curve to go from the then advanced and now outdated tech he’d seen during World War II to some of the things people in this century took for granted.

His current liaison officer - he had a feeling Fury insisted on calling Agent Paris that instead of therapist, because nobody wanted to give him the feeling he was under close observation or was considered fragile - had given him a tablet and database access to more books and footage on history than he would be able to ever catch up with, but he had found that the right kind of novels took the edge of. Funnily, science fiction did the trick, just like anything else that was far removed from his world or this one that it managed to just draw him in.

He knew Fury had a point. He needed to face what was out there and he needed to learn how to live with it. He couldn’t hide behind the mask of Captain America and he didn’t want to hide behind the mask he was putting on every day when he went out as Steve Rogers. But his grieving period wasn’t over yet and even thinking about it made him uncomfortable.

Meeting a much older Peggy hadn’t given him closure. Just weeks ago she had been a vibrant, smart young woman to him and he’d been ready to do more than just dream of a life with her - and now she was a widow with kids and grandchildren; a woman who had lived a fulfilled and amazing life. Looking her in the eyes… it had been the hardest thing he had ever done. Because despite everything, Peggy, his girl, had still been there in the eyes and even the voice of a much older woman.

The thought of her was painful.

Not because he had lost her, but because she had lived a full life while he had missed out and now there was nothing he could do to turn back time and make things right. She had lived a good life. Steve was the one who had to move on now.

She’d already done and lived it.

He considered going to the movies for his first outing. He remembered how much he had loved them back in the day. But even reading through some of the descriptions gave him pause.

“You could watch one at home,” Agent Paris had explained to him without judgment.

“I know that,” Steve said and asked himself how best to convey that this wasn’t the point. The movie theatre had always been a magical place to him, comforting and special. He feared that now it would jar him with all the differences and advancements and another piece of he life he had cherished would be warped and changed.

Looking at the ticket prices alone gave him pause. He had, of course, learned how rates had changed and was endlessly doing conversions in his head, but it was hard to not think about how many mouths he could have fed back _then_ \- back _home_ \- with the kind of money he was carrying around today. If he was carrying any and not just some colorful plastic cards.

He understood.

He could rationalize it.

But he hadn’t connected yet.

And he needed the connection. Everyone did.

“Head on,” he told himself, not sure how exactly you went about “meeting” a century, but he knew that trips to the supermarket or silent walks in Central Park were not the way to do it. He also knew that sooner or later he would have to, either as Steve Rogers or Captain America. And he would rather have it happen on his own terms than be thrown into it by circumstances that were outside of his control.

It came as no surprise at all that it was once again the woman he still loved so much and who would forever hold a place in his heat - the only connection he still had to his old life - who gave him the solution to his problem.

The invitation arrived in the mail with a note scribbled by one of Peggy’s nurses. “She used to go to the charity ball every year. She would like to you to go. Her donation was already received.”

In his mind a much younger Peggy, a Peggy he had seen like that just weeks before, smiled at him wryly, her lips a perfect red and her hair a lush brown. “I told you, I met Howard there every year. It’s for a good cause. Just go. No more excuses.”

Indeed Peggy had mentioned Howard and his wife and a charity ball. But the specifics escaped him right now. And it wasn’t important. It wasn’t like he would meet Howard or ever get to meet his wife. Apparently both had died in a car crash years ago.

He picked up the golden invitation card with the black print and considered it, tried to look beyond the difference in texture and the gloss and set of the printed letters. It wasn’t too different from invitations he’d received in the past. Not as Steve so much as Captain Rogers, of course. Cap had been the kind of guest people wanted to have at their events, Steve Rogers not so much. Not before the serum - and after the serum the name Rogers hadn’t mattered to anyone who wasn’t close to him.

He had firmly been Captain America then.

This shiny invitation now was for Steve Rogers. He was supposed to go just as himself and mingle or watch or brood at his on discretion.

 _Okay,_ he thought. _I wanted a reason to tackle this world head on. Here it is. You’re not that much of a coward, are you, Rogers?_

And when a final note fell out of the envelope - one of those slips of those sticky yellow paper he’d seen pads of in a few SHIELD offices already, it read: “Suit was ordered and will be delivered to your apartment. NO EXCUSES.”

It was very much like the Peggy he knew to think of everything, especially when she’d stubbornly made up her mind about something. It was a trait they’d shared from the start.

He supposed that meant he had indeed no excuse at all left for not going but for his own stubbornness.

“I owe you a dance,” he whispered and carefully placed the card, propped up, on his night stand and pretended for another two days that this was Peggy giving him a chance to take her to that dance he’d missed out on.

* * *

The suit Peggy - or her nurse, Steve couldn’t be sure about that - had picked out for him fit perfectly and he was grateful that it looked more casual than he had expected at first. With Peggy he had half expected a flashy black tuxedo, but what had arrived were nice light grey trousers and a matching dinner jacket, a white shirt and a blue necktie; something he saw people wear on the streets when they hurried to appointments and business meetings.

He put it on and checked himself over in the mirror after fumbling with the tie knot for a bit. It looked good, not too flashy, not like it would attract attention, but like Steve belonged in the here and now.

Like he wasn’t Steve Rogers from Brooklyn at all.

Wearing it felt a bit like he was donning another costume; the costume of a man who wasn’t from the 1940s.

He could do it, he thought. It was just another mask.

But in the field his uniform had always been functional more than an attempt at hiding who he was. The opposite in fact: The colors had been specifically meant to make him a symbol at home and he had kept them on the battlefield, to be easily recognizable even in the fray of battle so his presence would inspire other soldiers, draw the enemy fire when he was in the open with less robust allies around - and of course to put the fear of god into their enemies.

Hiding who he was had never really been the objective.

And even at SHIELD everyone had known who he was from the moment he’d woken up. Young agents constantly stepped up to him to ask him questions or introduce themselves to Captain America. It was no different from the people who had asked for a photo and an autograph at the shows before.

There had been no reason to hide, but sometimes the interest in his person was getting a bit much. Steve had never been one for that kind of attention even during the war, but to some extent it had been part of the world he had experienced every day since SHIELD had found him in the ice. Steve Rogers couldn’t walk into a room at a SHIELD without everyone knowing that Captain America was among them.

He gave himself a last look in mirror, grimaced at his own unenthusiastic expression and tried to smile.

Suddenly he had to laugh.

He looked… good. Even he had to admit that whoever had picked the suit had picked the right thing. He wasn’t uncomfortable; he could move easily without feeling constricted and he had a feeling that his mother would have been very proud to see her son had grown up into handsome young man who could fill out this kind of suit.

For a moment he imagined her standing there behind him, ruffling his hair and kissing his cheek. She would have had to stand on her tiptoes.

 _I’m proud of you_ , her imagined voice whispered through his mind.

She would have loved seeing him in a nice suit like this, even even he'd been just her pale little Stevie.

But he wasn't that Steve anymore.

When he smiled at the mirror this time it was a real smile. Finally he swore to himself: He was going to have a nice time. The least he could do was try to enjoy this a little - for his mother who would have smiled at him, for Bucky who had always looked out for him and died so long ago, for Peggy who he’d forever owe that one dance and, yes, for himself, who needed to stop feeling sorry for himself.

It was the _worst_ idea to start meeting the new century by going to a gala, but at least he would get to talk to some people who weren’t agents.

He decided to not take the motorcycle but call an actual cab and he had a little chat with the talkative driver. That took the edge off. He was just a guy going to a party where he knew nobody.

“Didn’t bring your girl?” the cab driver asked.

“No girl to bring.” He thought of Peggy and smiled sadly.

“Really? Then get one. Shouldn’t be hard with that face and those shoulders.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said as a parting shot, but his heart wasn’t in it.

Because even before he was inside the hotel’s entrance hall he knew he’d be lucky if he managed to find anyone to have a conversation with here. He had no idea how to start a conversation that wasn’t about all the questions he had about how the world worked now.

He fidgeted and then walked in like he was charging into battle.

Being nervous and uncomfortable was normal under the circumstances. He could do this. He only needed to stay an hour or so and prove to himself and all his well-meaning advisors that he could face the world.

Inside he realized it wouldn’t be that bad. Finding himself in the middle of a crowd, wearing a fancy if not too fancy suit, realizing that nobody was giving you a second glance - it was like an epiphany.

Outside of the SHIELD base he was an average Joe suddenly.

Because who the hell would look at him and think “Captain America” when Steve Rogers had gone MIA decades ago, in a war most of these grasshoppers didn’t remember.

It was a welcome change of pace.

Just ten minutes in he decided he liked it.

Neither the event itself nor the venue at this posh hotel did appeal to him overly much, but the feeling to be able to move around free and unseen, left to his own devices, was so good it plastered a grin all over his face.

Who would have thought that one day he would miss being scrawny Steve from Brooklyn, who nobody looked at twice?

He sure hadn’t.

And if he was entirely truthful, he _didn’t_ miss the scrawny guy with the health problems one bit.

He had hated being that Steve - not because people didn’t look at him with awe, but because he had struggled, constantly, with himself and the world and his place in it. Sara Rogers had brought him up with strong beliefs and convictions and all he had wanted to do was stand up for them and be heard. He _liked_ having a body that could keep up with his will and he didn’t mind being a symbol. Although he hadn’t expected to wake up to realize he was a legend in his own future, of course.

But here nobody knew that.

Right now he had no mission, no place in the world. That was too much like being back to square one. But he was still Steve Rogers and he had lost everything in ways that the adoring SHIELD agents could never understand, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t move forward. He had missed out on so much - even before he’d woken up 70 years after crashing a plane into ice and snow.

It was time for Steve to get out a little and enjoy the anonymity.

Long before Captain America Bucky had regularly nagged him about this: that he needed to go out more, that he should treat himself sometimes, even though it had never been easy to set aside the money.

How many people here could say that of themselves, he wondered?

Around him people, young and old, were wearing extravagant and shiny dresses and suits, make-up and jewelry. They walked and talked like people who had grown into money. They looked like people who knew nothing but abundance and safety.

It was as off putting as the hero worship that followed him at the heels when he was at SHIELD.

But nobody here looked at him sideways for not fitting their high standards.

Nobody looked up at him like he was a character from a book or from the movies.

Nobody looked down on him like he was the starving artist with the attitude.

Some people nodded at him in passing like he belonged. In a looking-in-from-the-outside-kind of way he felt free. For once he was watching without being too closely watched.

And this was a charity event. It couldn’t be too bad.

Whatever motives fueled the altruism of current company, the good cause was what mattered.

Perhaps Peggy still knew him better than he knew himself. And why would that come as a surprise. _He_ hadn’t changed. He hadn’t had the time to change. The same person that had gone into the ice had come out.

Straightening his shoulders he decided to make the best of this.

He had a mission: Meet the world head on, step by step, everyday a little more until he had found his place here. This party was only the first step of getting familiar with a new age.

An older man in a black suit walked past with a young woman on his arm who looked like she was in her twenties. With her pink short dress and cleavage she drew the looks of leering men and displeased women and some whispers seemed to follow the pair as they walked through the crowd.

Steve grimaced.

Well, maybe his place wasn’t _exactly_ here.

But it was a start. He could at least try and enjoy this, watch and listen to people and learn.

A man stepped forward and shook the older man’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder. Then he kissed the girl's hand; she giggled and all three laughed together. People were still watching, but pretending not to.

The new man’s eyes met Steve's for a brief moment and Steve realized he had been watching a little too closely and looked away. Not fast enough to not notice the man had a carefully styled van dyke and was wearing the kind of expensive suit that even Steve, with his limited knowledge of the here and now, could recognize _was_ expensive. It must be. It was tailored and fit perfectly. The man's eyes were also half hidden behind blue tinged sunglasses that Steve felt nobody had any use for inside a room.

It did nothing to hide the man’s perfectly angled cheekbones.

The man hadn’t done anything but talk and gesture with his hands, but Steve’s gaze had always been drawn by a well dressed man in a good suit. And that _was_ an attractive man.

Not sure he wanted to communicate any such interest in anyone to the world at large while he wasn’t really sure how you asked anyone for the time of day without giving offense, he quickly turned around to find another spot to watch the crowd.

He talked to an old lady and escaped before he could be introduced to two nieces.

The man who’d caught his eye before crossed his path again on the other side of the room half an hour or so later. Or actually Steve crossed his path this time, because the man was leaning with his back against a wall by a window and watched the room with a perfectly schooled smile. Steve had no reason to make any assumptions, but he wondered why someone who’d obviously enjoyed the bustle a few minutes before now looked like he was alone in a crowd.

[ Art by Caz]()

Like Steve.

Their gazes found each other like compelled, although it took Steve a moment to even notice with the sunglasses. The man nodded and smiled.

Steve nodded back and decided to not engage further, despite his heart giving a sudden flutter.

Right now navigating a room full of non-combatants was challenge enough for this grumpy old soldier.

After a while of walking around, tasting some of the food, and the champagne and orange juice that was carried around, while wishing for a good old American cheeseburger, he spoke with one of the waitresses. She at least seemed approachable. A young woman in a nice party dress smiled at him and he smiled back.

The novelty of it all had yet to wear off, but he wasn’t ready to actually start a real conversation.

 _They couldn’t have found a party where I’d had something in common with people?_ he thought and realized that this led right back to SHIELD or a time that was long gone.

Even here in the bustle of the gala the realization stung.

No idea what to do with himself, but reluctant to stop his people watching now that he finally felt he had found a window of contact with this new world, he sat down at the bar in the lobby from where he could see people come and go without actually having to interact too much with anyone.

“What can I get you?” the barkeeper asked him.

Steve shrugged, looking at all the differently shaped bottles and glasses behind the man’s back. He’d never been much for drinking, but it had become a bit of a moot point to even try. With a wry smile he said: “I’m not sure anything you have is strong enough.”

The barkeeper raised an eyebrow and waited. Steve was about to make a random choice, surely drinks couldn’t have changed that much.

“Now, now,” someone said from his left. “It’s a boring party, but there’s no need to get all dramatic about it.”

Steve turned, not sure he’d been addressed.

His throat went dry.

It was the attractive man with the ridiculous sunglasses and his grin, that was between amused and a bit mischievous, was turned on Steve. Something about that drew him in and he tried to tell himself it was more than the memory of that guy moving around the room in a tailored suit. Steve knew he had a weak spot for well dressed fellas and infectious smiles. Bucky had teased him about it endlessly when they’d been younger.

Not sure what to make of the man behind the smile, Steve cocked his head and waited for him to elaborate.

“Hi,” the stranger said to Steve and waved his hand. Then he looked over at the barkeeper, pulling off his silly sunglasses. “How about you give him a good Scotch. The real good one. He looks like he needs some cheering up.” He held up his martini glass. “And another of these for me.”

The barkeeper nodded and got to work.

“I look like a Scotch kind of guy?” Steve asked, because he really had no idea if he was. Most of his experiences with all Scottish whiskey had been after Rebirth and on the battlefield of Europe.

“Not strong enough?” his new acquaintance asked. “That bad of a party?”

Steve smiled and watched the Scotch materialize in front of him, before the barkeeper started to mix the requested martini. “Not sure. I haven’t been to a party in ages.”

It wasn’t even funny, how easy it was to tell the truth knowing that there was no way the other man could get the real meaning.

“Hmm, there must have been a better choice for jumping back into the pool.”

Steve shrugged. “I got passed the invitation by a friend who… can’t attend. I think she wanted me to get out of the house, do something else than sitting around and waiting for…” He paused. “Waiting for something, I guess.”

“Hmmm,” the man said in acknowledgment and took his martini from the barkeeper. “So she sent you out alone? I mean, no, judgment. Look at me: I can’t remember an appointment without Pepper and Jarvis making sure I have it printed on the inside of my sunglasses and now I’m here, because I had to take care of the next phase of construction. Pepper is in LA for a new business venture and Rhodey is overseas. Someone had to come. So it fell on me because I happened to be on the right side of he country.”

Of course Steve had absolutely no idea what the man was talking about, but _he_ didn’t seem to mind that Steve only stared. And right now Steve didn’t mind having someone to talk to at all. It helped him feel less lonely and less out of place.

“And here I am, all alone. Nobody to listen to my rambling, looking for a willing victim.” The man took a sip from his Martini and looked at him, just a bit gauging and maybe a bit more than casually interested. Without the glasses Steve could get his first real glimpse of his eyes; they were brown and wide and he would have called them beautiful, but only in the right company.

He had no idea how to tell these days if you _were_ in the right company.

How did men react to being flattered by other men? Were there still some secret signs to let each other know you were both on the same side of the fence?

He had no idea and even less of an idea how to ask.

Perfect.

“Alone in a crowd,” Steve said ruefully and was actually talking about the two of them sitting here and all the possibilities turning into an impenetrable net of questions for Steve. How did you flirt when you were missing the guidebook?

_Get your act together. You’re not here to flirt. Try talking to someone for more than two minutes before thinking about flirting and dates._

He raised his glass, before taking a careful sip.

The first taste burned his tongue with the initial explosion of strong alcohol, but then it unfolded into a complex mixture of bitter and sweet notes that was pleasant and warm.

“Good?” he was asked.

“Yeah,” he said, although he was still not sure he actually knew if it was any good or not. He liked it more than Schnaps and the cheap liquor the Commandos had preferred; less than wine maybe. Trying to make up his mind about it he took another tiny sip.

“Strong enough?” His companion was watching him with some amused interest.

He chuckled without much humor. “Not sure that… matters.”

“That bad of a day? Week? No judgment. There are those. More often for some people than others.” He held his glass up as if he was toasting.

Steve smiled and thought that over, then shrugged. It wasn’t like he could say: “I’m a super soldier, I can’t get drunk.” So after some consideration he reached for the next best truth and said: “Things have been complicated. I’m not a complicated guy. I like things clear and simple. I like knowing what's the right way to handle things. But there never seems to be any clear and simple for me. Not sure that’s why I’m accepting drinks from strangers tonight.” The sentence slipped out before he could stop it.

Smooth.

Peggy would have pressed her perfectly painted lips together and refrained from laughing at him for his unplanned forwardness. _Fondue_ , he thought. For all he knew the man had just tried to be friendly, because he saw his only temporary awkward loneliness echoed in another human being. Nobody had implied he had fallen for Steve's moping.

But his companion seemed unfazed and jumped right in without even acknowledging the comment: “Ah, I’m the expert on complicated, don’t hold back. I’m a crappy listener though. Fair warning. I might start babbling. I am babbling right now. Am I babbling? Whatever. Shoot. I’ll listen. Try to.”

It sounded like a very roundabout way of inviting him to spill his guts and coming from an attractive, talkative man he'd never even met before it sounded like a nice enough way to connect to someone who was not a soldier or agent. God, he was sure Bucky would have found this really amusing and would have told him he had a type: He fell for people who dressed smart, lived complicated lives and he had a thing for people with expressive eyes and a stubborn streak. His new companion seemed to fit the criteria with the exception of the last one, but he might get surprised.

“So,” Steve started, trying to steer the conversation away from himself despite the offer of an open ear. “You sound like a really busy person? What's your life like?”

The man’s expression changed to one of surprise and he cocked his head to the side, drawing up his brows. “Seriously?”

“Just what you said… It sounded like you're life is busy.”

“Yeah.” The guy laughed and there was a note of self-deprecating humor to it and he chuckled like someone who had been taken by surprise and was amused by it. Steve liked it instantly, better than the cock sure expression that had dominated his face until now. It was an unconscious little reaction that under different circumstances Steve might have missed, but right now he was watching closely. It had been a while since an attractive man had bought him a drink and made eyes at him. If that was what was happening. If it was happening, he was interested, but he still needed to figure out how to ask. He was the first to admit he was out of his depth here. But this - he wasn’t sure what to call it - _mutual interest_ shared for no other reason than meeting at a bar was such a stark contrast to the way people who knew who he was approached him. He had missed that. Being the stranger at the bar.

Finally the man stopped laughing and gave him a careful side-way glance. “You could say I’m busy. If you want to put a label on it.”

Steve smiled. “Are you going to tell me with what?”

“You really don’t know?”

“ _Should_ I know that?” He watched the way the man fingered his martini glass without raising it for another sip, just to keep his hands busy. It wasn't a nervous gesture, but interesting body language. He had beautiful hands, too, with strong fingers. But it were face and eyes that drew him in. Something about the depreciative smile that crossed his expression reminded him for a moment of Howard in his very rare quieter moments, but with an edge of true vulnerability.

Thinking of Howard reminded him of the gap in space and time between this man and himself and he missed a beat when the unreality of that reminded him of why he was here at this bar in the first place.

Head on.

Meet the new age head on.

Well, he was trying.

“Most people do know, yeah,” his new friend said very slowly and with a frown that was somewhere between suspicious and intrigued. Or perhaps it was just confused and unconsciously attractive, but Steve really didn’t think that was an appropriate line of thought just yet. “Looks like it’s becoming easier and easier to live inside your own echo chambers, hum? Here I was thinking I was a big deal and the first handsome face I talk to tonight brings me back to the harsh ground of reality. Clearly, I'm full of myself.”

Steve wanted to laugh out loud. He knew the man had talked to other people – had seen him talk to others at the party -, and of course, he knew that Steve knew, too. So was he saying he was the first attractive person he had talked to tonight? Or was this the very forward invitation to do more than talking? The man had no idea who he was talking to and yet he was being… flirty. This wasn't just him reading into things.

This man was flirting.

Flattered and surprised that he finally had gotten an obvious signal, Steve actually chuckled. “The first handsome face? Why, thanks. You’re not so bad looking yourself.” His throat went a little dry. And it wasn’t just that he was rusty when it came to human interaction, Steve had just never been very good with any sort of flirting as his few love interests would've attested to if they were young enough to still dance at parties.

“Thank you,” the man said with a snicker, taking the compliment like something obvious, something he'd heard before. “To be honest, you’re a bit too handsome for my taste. I wasn't sure I'd actually try and talk to you. So don’t get your hopes up just yet.” The slight rebuff was followed by a bright smile and Steve felt himself lean a bit forward to catch the expression. Apparently his new acquaintance was aware of his own appeal and that was something that could be very off putting and unattractive in a person and had put Steve off potential flirts in the past. But together with the open amusement and the willingness to take a joke at his own expense, it became the exact opposite.

 _Complicated,_ he thought. Hadn't he just claimed he preferred the simple life? Not when it came to lovers. Nobody would claim he'd fallen for Peggy because she was “simple and safe”.

Steve laughed, taking the slight rebuff not to get his hopes up as much as a challenge to prove himself. Too handsome. This was new. He had been rejected time and time again for being too scrawny and not and not handsome and strong enough. As of yet he hadn't been rejected because he was too handsome. He wondered what the man would think of Steve if he’d still look like the sickly person he had been years ago. Would he even have looked at him twice? Would he have joined him at the bar?

“I'm too handsome?”

The man shrugged, looking not at all apologetic. Raising his martini, he told Steve: “Sorry, handsome, I was probably not your first choice of a drinking buddy either? Seeing as I'm _a total stranger_.”

“I'm not complaining. Admittedly I didn’t have a first choice or even a second. I really came here just thinking I needed to go out, invitation on the desk, no excuses left to hide behind…” He struggled to find the right word and finally settled for: “Work. I didn't expect to even talk to anyone and I certainly didn’t expect to be told that I’m too handsome to score points with an attractive man like you. That’s a first.”

“Attractive, huh?” His companion smiled. “This is a good charity, nice event, but a bad choice for a get back into the swing of things event. Bit of an odd choice there. So what was it? Bad break-up? What are we recovering from?” For some reason the brown eyes were considering the olives that were swimming inside the martini and were no longer glued intently to Steve’s face. The man sat there slightly hunched forward considering his mostly untouched drink just as if he had asked the question, but wasn’t that interested in the answer.

Or - as if the question was hitting too close to home.

“None of that,” Steve answered. At this point he was painfully aware that he hadn’t introduced himself and that he didn’t want to - in case his name brought up recognition or that other kind of interest that he could do without. While nobody knew Steve Rogers was alive, the chances of recognition were slim, but Captain America was part of history books now. His name and picture had made it into school textbooks. He didn’t want to lie, but he also didn't want the first smart conversation he had end in being a scoop on a newspaper front page. Finally he said: “I was… I was gone for a long time and it’s hard settling back in. Everything has changed. Nothing feels the same.”

_Not even this. Not even being approached in a bar. Not even flirting without any expectations._

“Gone?” Although the man didn’t turn around or sit back to look at him, he was listening and he was peering at Steve out of the corner of his eyes, no longer babbling cheerily. Perhaps he was an observant, empathic listener after all.

He stared at his hands and carefully said: “I’m a soldier,” he said. “I was… gone for some years.”

“Oh.” The single syllable was the perfect sound of sudden realization. Then the man whispered something under his breath that sounded like, “figures”, before adding in a much more amiable voice: “Hard being back home?”

“You know something about that?”

The man finally straightened his back and looked Steve over with a different kind of consideration. “A little. I’ve spent much of my life around soldiers. One in particular. My friend who’s overseas is in the field often.” His voice had leveled out like this was something he wasn’t taking lightly. “He sees more combat than ever before.”

Steve simply nodded his understanding. For a moment, he saw something else flit through the warm brown eyes, something cold, something sad, something that was pushed away before Steve could really pinpoint it.

Those kind of demons were something he knew about too well though, so he believed he understood some of what was going on inside the other man.

Trying to find the right words, trying to say anything, he unconsciously licked his lips and didn’t miss the way the man’s attention was caught immediately.

He wasn’t just imagining the attraction then; it hadn’t only been a casual joke. Something was there. They were orbiting each other slowly, trying to figure out if they were a match.

And _admitting_ that much even to himself was like a rug being pulled out from beneath his feet. His muscles tensed and coiled like he was about to jump up and run.

But he didn’t really want to.

This was life. He wanted to live.

He didn’t really want to go back to an empty apartment with things and clothes and items that were all new and had no history. None of that even really belonged to him. Everything from the furnished apartment to his current sparse collection of clothes had been provided by SHIELD.

So far he'd bought food, two books and a record player with two records. Prices still made him nervous.

But this – this was comfortable.

No, he didn’t really want to go when here was the easiest and simplest of human connections he could have asked for, right in front of him.

Attraction.

Want.

He looked away and tried to be rational about this, tried very hard to put it out of his head. But heat rose in his cheeks, wandered up his body like a sudden inferno spreading and taking all ability to strategize with it.

He’d felt lonely for too long. That must be it. He was ready to be irrational about this.

Then the man spoke again: “It’s hard coming home and finding everything… is… untouched but different.” The words seemed to be well chosen.

The truth of that sentence was like a punch that for the moment only intensified the need for another person who'd understand, who'd be willing to hold his hand and kiss the terrible feeling of displacement away. But this was a deeper level of understanding than he'd expected to find in someone so richly dressed, who was brushing shoulders with the people here so easily. Steve wondered what the friend who was in active combat he’d mentioned earlier really meant to this man - and if it was something the both of them knew about. Was he intruding? Was the man waiting for someone to come home so he could confess?

Was Steve stepping into someone else's territory?

Momentarily he thought: _I should leave. He might miss someone I’m not. That wouldn’t be fair to either of us... Too handsome? Is this why I'm too handsome?_

But his companion was waiting for an answer to his question and Steve wasn’t quite sure he wasn’t selfishly thinking of himself, when he remained seated and thought about what to say. After all he had come here to move on from the life he couldn’t have anymore, too.

They could be each other's comfort just for one evening, flirting and talking.

That was harmless enough?

How could he answer? How could he explain without giving away too much? His world was so far from untouched that it wasn’t even possible to find a good response to that statement about finding home both changed and unchanged. His home was gone and what was left was different, so different from anything he had known. Grasping for an answer he reached for the truth in all this mess of can’t-be-tolds and said: “The bed’s too soft.”

A soft huff of breath, then he got the unexpected answer: “Yeah, shouldn’t be possible, but that's the worst.”

There was just the hint of too much knowledge in the words and tone, in the tensing of shoulders and the carefully neutral expression. Steve couldn’t look away, his throat suddenly impossibly dry. He hadn’t talked about it with anyone since waking up and this had certainly not been the place where he’d expected to start.

The attractive man, dressed in his expensive, tailored suit, hair brushed back carefully without it looking tamed, hand on the martini glass mostly to keep his fingers occupied, did not fit the picture of the kind of person that Steve had thought he’d open up to about this. He’d expected someone like him to flirt for a bit and then leave again, seeking another beautiful face in the crowd; one that came with less baggage.

But he was still here and made no move to leave Steve sitting here.

He presented a mystery.

A handsome mystery.

“Yeah,” Steve admitted, forcing the words out past the knot that was forming in his throat.

He couldn’t look away anymore.

Here was someone who seemed to understand him more than the agents he worked with.

He wasn’t usually the talkative or overly curious guy - that had always been Bucky - but he wanted to know how a man who had nothing of the soldier about him, who looked like someone who was at home at upper class events like this, knew about the terrible conundrum of a bed that should be a blessing and instead felt all wrong.

“You’re not a soldier?”

He didn’t fit Steve’s image of someone who’d joined the army during relative peace times to fight in far away conflicts, but he knew better than anyone that looks could be deceiving.

The man chuckled. “God, no. Oh, I would have my uses in the army. You could say people would like to see me join up in all kinds of ways, but I’m sure most generals secretly and not so secretly thank the heavens every day that I’m not in fact a soldier. I’m uncontrollable. A nuisance. I have problems with authority figures, I’m told. I’d never follow orders. See?” He gestured between them. “Textbook narcissism. I meet a handsome stranger in a lobby bar and think he must know who I am... What else could it be? Although I was trying… Never mind.” He bit his lip and shook his head, his expression dark suddenly.

Steve must have hit a nerve there, because that had been a deeper examination of the man’s civilian status than he’d expected. Had this man wanted to join the army at one time and been denied?

“Not something you want to talk about?” Steve tried, when after the flood of words the sudden silence hang between them like a wall of ice.

“No.”

Understanding that all too well, Steve nodded. He got that. Everyone at SHIELD wanted him to talk about everything, to adjust, to move past his grieving period. He’d been skirting around his “liaison officer” for weeks now by not exactly talking, but talking enough to keep her off his back.

Another thing they had in common?

He stared.

Swirling the amber liquid in the tumbler he was holding in front of his own face to distract himself from guarded brown eyes and the tight little lines that were forming around the man’s lips, he stumbled over his own thoughts.

God, he was staring at his lips. Was he really this desperate now?

Was this what 70 years as an ice block did to a man?

And then his companion frowned in a way that looked like Howard Stark and Steve blanched. Maybe he was only zooming in on this man because there was something familiar about him. Had he been so isolated and lonely that he was just latching on to the first human being who talked to him outside of a military facility, because he reminded him of someone from his past?

But then the man relaxed and leaned back, met his gaze and openly studied him. Suddenly the similarity seemed. His body language was different from his old friend, and the unreadable gaze was too. The Howard he knew had always seemed like a charming devil. Perhaps that was why he was the first person Steve was reminded of when faced with a charming person.

Right now Steve wasn’t sure he trusted himself on this. He might be the one seeing the past wherever he looked, because he missed it.

His companion pursed his lips and then said: “Lots of things I’d rather talk about to be honest.”

They still hadn’t introduced themselves and by now it looked like for some reason they both wanted to avoid doing so and had instead decided to just leave it at this. It shouldn't have felt comfortable, but it did. Finding some compassion, some echo of his own issues in a stranger, was freeing. It took the burden off his shoulders and allowed him to look at what was possible and what he thought he was read for.

Was he ready for this?

Was it fair to jump on someone who seemed to have his own load in live to deal with, just because Steve was feeling lonely, nostalgic and reminded of someone who died years ago?

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “It was so easy talking to you. I didn’t want to press. You seemed familiar and…”

The man laughed again. It was such a throaty perfect sound that started as a low dark baritone and then slipped into a vivacious tenor as his amusement grew. “Yeah? Familiar? Am I? Tell me more.” He really seemed to expect Steve to have seen him somewhere before.

It was time to run or make up his mind. He nodded to himself and then at the man and got ready to excuse himself. “It was really nice meeting you…” He reached for a name and remembered he had never been offered one.

“Henry,” the man suggest and grinned the most shit eating grin Steve had ever seen - and he had seen quite few.

That made him laugh, quietly charmed. That too seemed really amiable, not like the stranger was trying to make fun of Steve, but like he was enjoying the game. “I’m not sure I believe you, _Henry_.”

“Don’t,” the man said deadpan, not even for a moment pretending that was anything but a made up name, but smiling now like he was really amused at Steve and his reactions. Steve was missing something here. Some vital information. Perhaps he’d picked up a celebrity, an actor. The man sure as hell moved like it. Like someone who would be at home on a stage or on the silver screen.

Was he amused at the nobody trying to let him down gently?

“It was nice to meet you, _Henry_.” He held out his hand.

This had been interesting for his first attempt at non-work relations in the 21st century, but anything that went beyond this was going too far. He couldn't jump into a casual tete-a-tete like this.

The kissable lips quirked up and there was a bit of the impish amusement bleeding back in, triggering Steve to smile wider, too. At least they were parting on a lighter note and Steve wouldn't regret having come. He couldn't express how grateful he was to this man for this whole conversation.

Then “Henry” said with a sudden frown: “Has anyone ever told you that you look a lot like Captain America when you smile?”

He stopped breathing, and his heart rate picked up at the same time. “Captain America?” he asked weakly.

“Yeah, you know. You’re a soldier, you must know everything about the story of Steve Rogers and the stuff they pumped through him to make him a World War II hero.”

 _Time to run_ , he thought. High time to get out of here. _Past_ time. He was so bad at running though.

But it was the sudden shift in tone, that had gone from slightly amused to bitter that caught him in a net of more unanswered questions, pulled him in with the mystery and he couldn’t, _couldn’t_ turn away. “You think I smile like Captain America?”

“Look like him really. It’s eerie.”

“Eerie?” His voice sounded normal, but suddenly he felt light headed. Sure, he knew, there were textbooks about him. His name appeared in history books right beside his code name. He’d been told as much. He’d read up on it, although he had stopped pretty quickly. There was nothing more uncomfortable than reading about yourself as if you were a relic, a thing of the past, gone and neatly recorded for posterity.

Why had he thought nobody would make the connection?

Because Captain America had been dead for 70 years. That’s why. To the world Captain America still was dead.

“Sorry. It’s probably a selling point usually. Handsome soldier. Big broad shouldered and a bit of a sad smile, looking like one of our biggest heroes. Must be a huge success with the ladies - or well boys. People must flock to you whenever you bat your eyelashes.”

He remembered the two SHIELD agents he’d talked to yesterday who’d looked at him in awe and had stumbled over their words when he’d addressed them. “Not sure it is,” he said roughly.

“It’s not? Really? Are you sure you’ve tried? I'm sure people will like it.”

Instead of letting it go, Steve sat back down. “You say that like you don’t believe it. Like you have no fondness for the idea of anyone looking like Captain America. Why is that?”

“Don’t mind me. My dad wanted me to be more like Captain America and instead I came out more like an annoying rogue element. I don’t want to kiss a specter of what I should have been. It’s not personal.”

That sounded terrible. And it didn’t add up.

“Why did you talk to me then? You could have approached anyone.”

Henry stopped and narrowed his eyes. Then his shit eating grin was back: “I told you, you were too handsome. Don't say I didn't warn you. Look you’re not a honey pot sent here to test me…?”

“A what?” He felt his nostrils flare and strongly took offense at the suggestion. “You think I was...”

“No, you’re not obviously. You’re too… real. So… If you were less handsome…”

The barkeeper had stopped close by and he was watching both of them now with a bit too much interest. Henry noticed it the same time that Steve did.

Steve glared at the man. He hated snooping and he half expected him to be someone who was here to keep an eye on Steve. Who knew how far SHIELD went to protect assets? Then he turned to Henry and wondered if maybe the man wasn’t just pretending to be a big shot. Was the barkeeper not watching Steve but Henry?

He got up again, but this time he stopped in front of Henry before leaving. “If I’d look less like Captain America - then what?”

 _Say it,_ he thought. Because now he remembered how often attraction was complex and complicated right after it seemed simple and you danced too many steps around and around until it all slipped through your fingers and he would be damned if he let anything slip through his fingers the first day he was back out in the world for something other than debriefings, just because he hadn’t shown a little spirit.

He _was_ Captain America, but he was also Steve Rogers and he was not going to be rejected because he looked too much like himself.

And Henry whispered between his teeth: “If you looked less like Captain America I’d ask you to come up to a hotel room and promise you wouldn’t be bored for one minute.”

It was the most honest, most open and most outrageous proposition he’d ever received in his entire life - and it wasn’t even really one, because he _looked_ like Captain America, damn it. But it wasn’t a rejection either. A minute ago this man had implied Steve might be here to… lure him in, seduce him with his looks and at the same time had implied Steve looked too much like _Steve_ to hold any appeal for him. And to top it all of, now it sounded like Henry was looking for company and sex - was offering company and sex - but wasn’t sure Steve wouldn’t be _too complicated_ when all Steve wanted was to have something _simple_. This could be simple.

So why were they making it complicated?

“Then make up your mind, because I can't help that I look this way,” Steve said with an impatient huff. Only he, of course, was aware of the irony of saying these word. And he was surprised himself that it came out like a challenge.

It was a challenge though. He wanted it to be one.

This had not been the plan.

Getting up close and personal – no, it had not been part of the plan.

It still wasn’t. Or was it?

He couldn’t explain it, but the fact that the man was attracted to him despite finding fault with him was alluring, perfect and flattering. It made this flirt simple and normal and a complicated kind of easy and – less about all the baggage he was carrying around. How would he find that again, when the world learned he was alive?

“You’re infuriating,” Henry informed him without any hint of heat or anger in it, just a lingering sort of delighted surprise, as if that was a quality he had been missing until now but that made all the difference. Because now he looked at Steve and it was clear that _infuriating_ appealed to him more than Steve's looks.

“Yes,” Steve admitted and was surprised how much heat _he_ was putting into that one word. “Yes, I am sometimes. Often, maybe. Now ask me to accompany you upstairs or we’ll pretend this never happened and I leave.”

It took a beat of staring at each other. Perhaps the other man was as surprised at this turn of events as Steve was.

The other man snickered, chuckled and finally right out laughed. Apparently Steve’s forwardness was something he hadn’t seen coming at all. “Peas in a pod,” he said and scrunched up his nose, eyes still shining brightly with delight and mirth. “How did I not see it? Probably because you hide it behind the Captain America brand smile.”

Steve was less than a second away from walking out and forgetting any of this had ever happened. He hadn’t come here to flirt or issue challenges and sure as hell not to be made fun off. He wasn’t even here to make friends. He was only here so he had no chance to mope around the apartment or the gym for at least one day.

So how had this happened?

Damn it.

Sulking was the farthest thing from his mind now and he would be so disappointed if this enticing riddle in a tailored suit walked away from him now - or let Steve walk away. Because _now_ Steve would go home and mope and think of this as another missed chance.

 _Say it,_ he thought and held Henry's gaze, unspokenly issuing his challenge again.

“Alright,” Henry said and got to his feet. “I’ll get a room key. Wait for me by the elevators. If you’re still there when I get there, this is happening.”

It was the most business like announcement of the fact that they were going to _get a room_ right here at the hotel to have sex. And… that was good. Steve was surprisingly okay with it. It wasn’t like he could ask Henry to his apartment or… ask to be taken home by Henry, because he half-expected SHIELD to storm the apartment if he didn't turn up home in time. This was simple and casual and just about the lust and pleasure and company and he really wanted to keep it that way.

What better place than right here and now?

Henry waited, as if he expected Steve to change his mind on this, then he went, brisk walk, head held high. On his way out, Steve watched him stride away and nod at a tall gray haired man, who looked like another rich patron and nodded back like they knew each other, and there was a burly man in a suit who Henry said some words to before leaving Steve's field of vision. _Bodyguard?_

Having time for some second thoughts Steve looked over at the barkeeper.

“Have a good time,” the man told him with a blank expression, collecting the still mostly undrunk martini. “And if someone asks, I didn’t see or hear anything.” He made a zipper motion across his mouth.

Steve had no idea who would be asking for him – if not for SHIELD. They wouldn't have sent an agent to work at the bar though to watch him?

Was this about Henry? He had seen no ring on Henry’s finger to suggest that they were breaking any vows here, but some of this reminded him of growing up and hiding behind pretenses while sitting at the “right” table at an automat to make sure you weren’t overheard by those who wouldn’t approve. So he nodded at the barkeeper, embarrassed and grateful and walked towards the elevators.

He had gone from lonely at a gala where he was out of place to making arrangements for a tete-a-tete.

How had he even ended up in a situation like this?

This was crazy. Admittedly, this was nowhere the craziest thing he’d ever done - or he wouldn’t even be standing here in a super soldier body that could survive the ages - but this was crazier than the time Bucky had decided to take him to a bar full of dancing sailors to find him “a friend or two”.

Henry wasn’t there yet.

Steve could still walk out.

He was Captain America and Henry or whatever his name really was didn’t seem overly fond of the idea of him.

He was Steve Rogers.

He couldn’t lie about that.

Not to someone he was going to sleep with.

Was he going to sleep with someone?

Was this what he wanted to happen?

Damn.

Yes. Yes, it was. And he'd been the one to make that clear.

Bucky would have had a field day even hearing about this. He remembered Bucky saying to him: _“You need to think about yourself sometimes. It’s never been your strong suit, but fuck it, Steve, it’s been getting worse now that you are Mr. Amazing Soldier Boy. Just because you’re the beauty now you don’t have to be the better man. Go get someone and have some fun.”_

_“Bucky, there is a war on. That’s not the right time.”_

_“Always an excuse at the ready, Steve-o. Agent Carter wouldn’t mind you getting serious about the flirting and there is a sea of good looking soldiers around. Don’t look at me. I’m firmly dancing on this side of the fence, thanks. Go let your hair down.”_

Two weeks after the conversation Bucky had been dead.

_Think about yourself._

_Meet the century head on._

_Suit was ordered and will be delivered to your apartment. NO EXCUSES._

All the advice was bleeding together in his head and he stood firmly planted to the ground mulling it over and waiting for Henry to reappear.

“Second thoughts? You look like you’re getting ready for a fight,” a smooth, now at least slightly familiar voice asked and Henry stood just a step away from him, strange sunglasses back in place, hiding the true warm chocolate brown of his eyes behind the strange violet tinge.

“Nope,” he said and tried to smile. He had no idea at all why he was so nervous. He was no blushing virgin by any stretch of the definition. And too much time on the battlefield did not leave you with many concerns of modesty and personal shyness.

But it had been so long. Such a long time. Much too long. When had he allowed himself to be touched for the last time? When had he touched? When had he wanted to touch... and there it was again – all that had been yesterday and was so far out of reach now.

No.

No time for that.

He had no second thoughts.

This was casual. This was simple. This was exactly what he needed and Henry seemed to agree with him on that.

The fact that Henry seemed to dislike the very thought of being with Captain America somehow made the whole thing that much easier. Henry wasn’t sleeping with Cap, he was here with Steve. And it had been such a long, long time since anyone had been anywhere with _just_ Steve and wanted it.

At least Henry wasn’t getting with him for the glory, or the idea of the unique super soldier. They were simply two men who had hooked up in a bar. Nothing complicated about that – and exactly what the doctor prescribed.

How much skin on skin contact would count as having made a connection – of having allowed himself to live a little?

Right now he hoped there'd be _a lot of it_.

The elevator doors opened and they stepped in together and Steve felt calm – and yet not exactly calm. Henry pushed a button for one of the top floors. Steve did not pay attention. He was too busy appreciating the fact that the man he was going to spend a bit of very casual friendly time with was wearing an absolutely tight fitting suit that showed off the curve of his backside gloriously.

He licked his lips.

Nice suits had always been a bit of a weakness.

Henry caught Steve ogling him just as he turned around to lean against the back wall of the elevator. “What?” he asked with the cockiest grin. “Do I look that good?”

The elevator door closed behind them.

“Nice suit,” Steve said and didn’t think there was any need to hide his interest now anyway. They’d moved far beyond that point already.

“Hmmmmmm, you like it?” Henry pulled up a leg as he leaned against the wall and pushed up his chin as if he was offering another challenge or presenting himself for display. “Why are you all the way over there? I thought we were getting familiar. Like, over here.”

Steve didn’t want to admit it, but he had waited for the invitation, and now that it had been offered he used his battle honed reflexes to move over to Henry like a stealthy cat, framing the slightly smaller man with his arms, before he leaned down to catch his lips in a real kiss.

Finally.

The angle was uncomfortable and they crashed together a little too fast, but he hadn’t kissed anyone since… since Peggy. And technically for him that had been this year, only a few months before, even though he’d somehow managed to play Sleeping Beauty for 70 years in between.

The difference in circumstance and feel was startling, distracting and strange, and yet the heat, the feel of perfect lips and the scratching of the beard against his face were all perfect and familiar and yet unique. He liked the smell and taste and warmth and was ready to lose himself in the pleasure that this little show of building intimacy promised.

Henry chuckled into the kiss.

“You’re either very eager or a little rusty or both,” he said against Steve’s cheek after he pulled away.

“Shut up, Henry,” he whispered back, more out of breath than he’d been in years thanks to the serum. He'd never enjoyed being made fun of and he was very much not enjoying it when he was about to have sex with someone, so he leaned closer to shut up his would-be-lover with another more forceful kiss. The strange sunglasses pushed against his cheek as he did so and he was already planning to throw them across the hotel room the moment he got the chance, just because he wanted to have them out of the way.

The man chuckled into the new kiss, too, amused but not mockingly, but Steve kept him in place with a gentle press of the lips and a less gentle press of weight against his body, effectively caging Henry against the side of the elevator. Something firm pressed against his chest, but he had no capacity to even wonder about it right now, as Henry made a woofing sound and then finally they were both caught up in the fire of this play of lips and tongues that was burning away all remaining second thoughts and all confusion – and all the memories that threatened to spiral at any minute. It was like someone had turned a switch and the initial awkwardness slipped away. Henry kissed back aggressively and hot, biting Steve’s lip when Steve tried to retreat. So Steve stayed put, pushed his tongue into Henry's mouth and turned it as dirty as he dared. The angle, the wandering hands, the heat – it all fit and suddenly Steve realized he’d never kissed a man like this, not with such fervor, not when he had the superior strength, not with his enhanced body…

He groaned, and the elevator announced with a soft chime that they were on the right floor.

“Henry isn’t your real name, is it?” Steve asked out of breath and the man ducked beneath his arm to get out into the hallway, his sunglasses sitting askew and his lips glistening red. It was a very good look on him.

Henry stopped in the elevator door, looking back at Steve like he had no care in the world. “No.” He smiled. “Does that bother you?”

“Not right now,” he said. He wasn’t sure it would tomorrow. Secrecy was no problem. He understood the need for discretion better than Henry could imagine – not only because he wasn't about to disclose he was Captain America. Back when he’d grown up, you had to be careful if you even went somewhere to meet other men. There had been too many cases of plain clothes cops trying to goad you into admitting your inclinations. But things had changed since then. In his months in this new decade Steve had already stumbled over the information that these days, you could use an app on your phone to find partners to meet up. And better still: Whatever you wanted to do, it couldn’t land you in prison anymore.

Not-Henry started walking backwards out of the elevator and Steve followed him, prowling. He was still hot and he really wanted to get his hands under that expensive suit jacket and even better under the dress shirt and on skin.

“Is Henry someone you know?” he asked, while he followed him to the door.

“Hm-hmmm,” Not-Henry hummed. “Not really. It was a joke. I thought that maybe a reference to Henry Hellrung would ring a bell. It doesn’t?”

“Hellrung?” The name brought up the uncomfortable memory of a Nazi officer he’d had the pleasure of hunting down.

“Where the hell did they keep you for the last five years, abb-wonder? Didn’t you have a television on your tour?” It sounded like a joke, but Henry’s eyes showed something much more like worry, something darker, and Steve wanted to wipe it away, kiss it away.

Had Henry ever been anywhere without television? He didn't seem like someone who left the safety of civilized society very often.

Steve watched the man’s hands fumble with the door and it was hard to tell if Henry was nervous or just impatient. Of course, Steve had seen card keys in the local SHIELD lab and in the security facilities, but he hadn’t expected them in a hotel for some reason. It seemed like these things should be confined to the secret compounds of government facilities. Henry had to swipe the card through the lock twice before the little light beside the slit switched to green and Steve watched the process with interest.

“Henry Hellrung. He’s an actor. People think he looks like me. I look like him. We look alike. You get the idea.” His Henry seemed to be unconvinced of the presumed similarities between him and said actor. “He got cast as… You know what? Whatever… Not important. Google it later.”

Google.

Lots of questions recently had been answered by Internet searches and reading up on all kinds of things. Agent Paris had advised him to make notes about names and references he found confusing and look up what seemed important, so that it didn’t get frustrating.

It got frustrating pretty often anyway.

The door sprang open, Henry grabbed Steve’s tie and pulled him along, going back to playful and just a little wanton now that they were away from prying eyes.

Steve didn’t need to be pulled.

He wanted this.

Desperately so.

Connection.

Touching.

Wanted it impatiently after he had focused on his duty and mission for so long.

And who would dare blame him? 70 years lost and the woman he owed a dance barely able to walk without help. He was missing something that would never return to him. But he could allow himself to want new things. He could stop feeling guilty about being alive and _wanting_ things.

And the hint of darkness that had clouded Henry’s expression had just come and gone, was replaced now by something else entirely as he stepped backwards as if he needed to lure Steve into the room.

Readily, Steve closed the door behind himself. The bed was the first thing he saw and Henry’s eyes followed his line of sight. Then he cocked his head a little, pulled of the sunglasses and asked Steve: “So, as we are about to get _very_ familiar, handsome. What’s _your_ name? And look-a-like or not, I'm not calling you Cap in bed. Very decidedly not.”

There.

That brought a slight pang of guilt, mixed with lust. Steve stepped right into Henry's space and kissed him, slower this time, taking his time, stroking Henry's cheek with one hand and making sure they were both enjoying it.

“Steve,” he said then and grinned as Not-really-Henry’s eyes widened. The truth delivered the perfect alias for him, after Henry had established that Steve looked a lot like, well, Steve.

Henry barked a short laugh out before Steve grabbed him by the chin and kissed him again. This was moving slower now than he expected and he wanted, needed it to _move faster_ so he could finally stop thinking, finally stop worrying and comparing. He just wanted to belong, even if it was just for an hour or so.

He wanted something that wasn’t complicated, something that was his, something that made him feel. And simple and casual sounded perfect. This wasn’t the time for real entanglements. Had it ever been the right time? He had never really _gotten_ to the steady long term part of relationships, even though he had always hoped for it.

Just now he found himself pulling the other man close so he could break the kiss and nuzzle his neck.

“Ah, you were a little rusty,” Henry said, when they finally broke the kiss, and put his sunglasses at the little writing desk by the window. He was a little out of breath. “You’re getting the hang of it again now. A+.”

“I don’t want to disappoint.”

“Wow, wow, wow, look at you. Saying that like a thousand stupid fuckers turned you down. What kind of idiots did you deal with before?” 

Henry’s voice was laced with his own breathless want for Steve and it took his breath away. He knew his eyes widened and his heart welled up with too many emotions and he quenched any sort of memory immediately. There was no time to dwell on any of that now and he didn't want to dwell either. He was here, he was alive, he had the body of a super-soldier and some part of his brain knew that meant he was desirable, even though he'd never had time to explore that and also usually shied back from exploring it. He was desirable enough to have caught Henry’s attention.

Henry who was himself _desirable_.

Who was here and ready and thought nobody in their right mind would think Steve could be a disappointment. _Just_ too _handsome_ , he thought wryly and smiled.

The reverence, the open appreciation, it would be his undoing, he knew. He’d never been called too handsome.

Steve was a man made of flesh and blood. He liked sex. He liked sex as much as the proverbial next guy. And it had been too long since he'd been wanted by another man, too long since he’d allowed himself to feel, since someone had touched him with kindness and overwhelming need. _Since things had been simple_.

And at the heart of it, despite both their issues, despite _Steve’s_ terrible feelings of displacement, this was all perfectly safe and uncomplicated - just like it had always been. This could be happening at any time in any decade and be just as easy.

They were here because of mutual attraction. 

Two men trying to find pleasure in some attractive company.

Right now nothing mattered but the need to get hands on skin, the thought of getting naked between the sheets and dancing a dance that was only between the two of them.

He was here because he needed to feel the pleasure and intimacy of this kind of company to feel real again. And it looked like Henry was here for the same reason. 

With some force, Steve pushed forward and made Henry stumble backwards towards the bed. And Henry made the funniest oof-ing sound when he hit the bed with the back of his legs and nearly stumbled into it, but refused to let himself fall into a sitting position. He reached for Steve, held himself against his shoulders and Steve had to admit he quite enjoyed the height difference, as the other man had to pull him down to fasten their lips together. Then they were kissing like this, still standing up in front of the bed that loomed like a promise for more to come _soon_.

They were clinging to each other. The kiss turned aggressive so fast that Steve couldn’t tell who started it. It felt like both of them were trying to establish who was in charge, and who got to push this along to the main part. Impatience wasn’t the best guide, but nothing could go fast enough now. Steve drew his arms around Henry in an attempt to embrace him, his hands brushing along his shapely behind and squeezing the round cheeks a bit before deepening the kiss. 

He wanted to press their bodies together in their perfect, prim suits. He loved the smell of Henry’s cologne and wanted to lose himself in the feel, smell and taste of it. But Henry stopped him, hands on his chest to keep some distance between them and then - contradicting his actions - leaned into the kiss even more. As soon as he had his arms up and could hold Steve back a little, Henry melted into the kiss. 

Steve dove in, nibbling on his lower lip and stroking both hands along the man’s hips, testing if Henry would allow it. Did Henry need to keep Steve at arm’s length to be comfortable? Was there some bridges he didn’t want to cross with a stranger? Intrigued and _bothered_ , because he really wanted nothing more than to touch and be close, share the heat and passion he was feeling, he also made a mental note not to push the other man too far.

They _were_ strangers.

They knew nothing about each other.

They could have talked it out...

All thoughts of talking flew right out of his mind though, when Henry sucked Steve’s tongue into his own mouth, inviting him to lay claim to his hot wet cavity, and Steve was a goner.

He grabbed Henry around the hips hard and picked him up with two hands, Henry’s feet leaving the ground for a moment like he weighed nothing at all.

Surprised, Henry yelped into the kiss, nearly biting down on Steve’s tongue - because Steve would be damned if he broke the kiss- breathless and so ready to have more friction, touch and heat. Easily, much too easily, Steve picked Henry up and turned both of them around as if in a dance. They nearly stumbled when Henry struggled against the hold in surprise, but Steve let himself fall backwards onto the bed, deliberately choosing the angle, and pulled the other man down with him, controlling where they went and how they landed. Henry, unbalanced and no match for Steve's superior strength, toppled down on top of him. At the last second, he caught himself on his elbows on either side of Steve’s torso before their chests bumped into each other. 

The kiss was broken, and they were both panting. With glittering dark brown eyes, Henry searched his face and then straightened up, not leaning down for more kissing.

Steve blinked up at the panting man, as he was sitting with both knees on either side of Steve's hips. He couldn’t read his reaction. Henry looked flushed and gloriously out of his depth – and _interested_. Sparking heat that wanted to be an inferno.

Steve wanted nothing more than to burn with it.

“You're so strong,” Henry whispered.

“Yeah,” Steve said, between erratic breathing and half-expected to be told that he had gone too far, that being pushed around wasn’t what Henry was looking for. What had he been thinking? Henry had been looking for a young handsome guy to pick up and not… him. Not Captain America. So like a warning, he added: “I am very strong, yeah. Is that going to be a problem?”

Henry made a choked sound, surprised and - god damn, Steve could feel Henry’s erection through the fabric of their pants. There was no mistaking that for anything but urgent need and he felt it echoed in himself, felt his own blood rush to his cock, as he realized how much the other man wanted him.

 _Despite_ the superior strength. _Because of_ the superior strength.

Finally, Henry breathed in the sexiest, low whisper, just a hint of a growl in it: “Problem? You must have picked up the wrong guys all over, _Steve_.” Again he emphasized his name, as if they were playing a deliberate game, and Steve nearly shivered under the intensity of his gaze, the scrutiny. Henry licked his lips and rolled his hips. His eyes bled lust. “That strength is damn sexy, _Steve_. Like you could just manhandle me into bed and rip my clothes off. I like it. I _want_ it.”

That voice was driving him wild.

Brown eyes were studying his face with building heat suddenly, like Henry had truly enjoyed the show of strength, like it was exciting and dangerous, like he truly wanted more, like he wanted to be pushed over the edge; there was a hint of unease in his expression though, but Henry didn’t look put off - but enticed like the idea that this stranger he’d only just met and knew nothing about could overpower him made this even more of an adventure for him.

Steve grabbed his hips - fingers splaying more against his ass, really, and not at all by accident - and pushed up. Henry gasped out loud and pushed back against Steve, his head thrown back and and then - finally, _finally_ \- they were moving and groaning together, Steve’s back pressed into the mattress. And it would all be over too soon, too embarrassingly fast, if he didn’t stop this, slowed it down a notch…

He stopped Henry’s movements with a tight hold on his hips and peered up.

Henry looked down at him - turned on, hot, and... something. Cautious. “I have to warn you, I’m a handful though and there… is… oh god,” he tried to tell Steve. He tried to move again, but Steve held him, forced him to hold still, held his gaze all the while and saw the dawning realization there. Steve _could_ hold him, Steve could hold him _down_ if he wanted to, but he wasn’t and he wouldn’t, not before he was explicitly asked to.

And there was the trace of a shadow settling over the open lust and need that came and went like a flash before he could really discern what was going through Henry’s head. Steve wanted to brush it all away, wanted to make sure the other man forgot about all unpleasantness he might be remembering, all the things that had no room here, in this bed, in this moment, in their untainted right now, just like Steve knew he wanted to forget for a while, lose himself for a bit.

He sat up, so that Henry was pushed back a little in his lap – and there they were again, the hands pushing Steve slightly away, making sure they weren't chest to chest. He ignored it, impatient and hot and not sure it was the right moment to ask anything. It wasn't like Henry didn't allow him the kiss or the touch. Waiting for another sign of discomfort, he was relieved when none came. Henry’s lips parted easily and Steve dove into the kiss. He let Henry lean his elbows against his chest and kissed and nipped and caressed wherever he could reach. He left a trail of kisses along the jaw, along the slightly scratchy beard, outlined the perfect van Dyke with his lips and nipped at Henry's earlobe. As before the man relaxed immediately into it, no signs of second thoughts or distress lingering.

Into it. Losing himself.

It was an enigma. An enticing mystery wrapped in a tight fighting suit. And Steve wanted to unravel it, right here and now, with his hands, with his body...

There really wasn't enough fabric between them to hide how into this both of them were. Steve was ready to go, to take, to beg for it if he needed to. Skin. He wanted to feel _this_ skin on skin, taste every inch of Henry he could fasten his lips to.

Fire.

This was what it was like to catch fire. He reached for his own tie, impatiently trying to shrug out of his jacket before he had even managed to loosen the knot even a little. Nothing could go fast enough, but it also meant that he had to let go of the warm body above him.

The moment he was free of Steve’s hold, Henry got up and Steve mourned his warmth, had the illogical impulse to grab him and make him stay. But then Henry pulled his golden-yellow bow-tie from around his own neck and let it fall to the floor carelessly.

As the fabric rustled from his fingers with the softest sound, Steve, still sitting on the edge of the bed, threw his jacket away from himself, uncaring of where it fell. Finally this was moving. In anticipation Henry licked his lips and Steve felt a pang of regret at the same time. He didn't want the other man over there. He had _wanted_ him right here, sitting on his lap, where he could feel him, hold him, touch him, rub against him.

His need was a pulsing fire that urged him to speed this up.

He watched Henry as he was now: pupils blown wide, nearly drowning out the brown of his expressive eyes, standing a foot or so away from him and the bed. He was breathing fast and looked like he was making a final decision about Steve. Was he thinking about leaving Steve here? Was he deciding that this was too dangerous? Was he thinking about the repercussions of trusting a stranger?

 _Please no,_ Steve thought and got ready to get up and snatch Henry by the arm before he could flee the scene or come to his senses. Henry had been so cocky and confident at the bar and Steve wanted that back, wanted the man who had told him he was _too handsome_ , the man who’d told him it was sexy to find Steve could easily overpower him.

Was that what made Steve too dangerous now, that gave him second thoughts? Was Steve reminding him of someone? Someone other than Captain America?

But then the thoughts flew right out of his head, because Henry held his gaze, made him stay put with just that look and then slowly, he too shrugged out of the expensive black suit jacket and let it glide over the back of chair that stood by a small writing desk by the window.

That was so unexpectedly _tidy_ and orderly – and sexy – that Steve wanted to jump up and kiss him silly, until he had to gasp for breath and wanted to make a mess, but then Henry turned from the chair and his perfect jacket – and their eyes met again. The smouldering heat that was building there in Henry’s gaze kept Steve in his place again, sitting on the bed, mouth dry and _hungry_ for more. 

Henry moved, swaying his hips a little as he did – schooled elegance and poise, designed to keep Steve’s attention. Without the jacket Henry was wearing only a dark button down shirt and a vest that matched the color of his suit and now no bow-tie... Steve licked his lips as Henry's fingers came up to unbutton the west carefully and slowly, looking determined and like he was going to put on a show, but also like he was steeling himself for something, daring Steve to look away.

The fabric, the perfectly tailored fit of the suit drew Steve’s eyes and he loved the way it hugged Henry's body, putting it on display without revealing anything. He followed the lines with his eyes and, his cock gave a twitch in anticipation.

God, he loved the suit. Henry looked so good in that suit.

And he was putting on a show for Steve’s benefit.

But his hands had finished with opening the vest and he was reaching up toward the top button of his shirt.

“Leave it,” Steve said, surprised his voice came out as more than a husky whisper, more than a desperate squeak, and finally he stood up, catching the sudden surprise in Henry's brown eyes. He was ready to pounce and he probably looked it. “I like you in that suit. Button up the vest,” he ordered.

“You like suits that much?” Henry asked with just a hint of breathless mocking, contradicted only by his fingers going back to the vest buttons and closing them obediently.

Steve knew he wasn't walking closer – he was _stalking_. “I like this suit. On you.”

Henry blinked at him, not exactly tensing, before relaxing and putting up his chin and smiling. “Look at you. You’re full of surprises, _Steve_. I like it.”

His name sounded like a tempting offer when it was said like that. God, he was so proud of himself for the truthful lie he'd come up with. He wanted to hear his name fall off those lips again and again and again - preferably in a passionate whisper, a plea for more.

“That sounds like you want me to take you by surprise some more,” he pointed out and finally reached the other man. He stopped right in front of him, looked down, and enjoyed the height difference yet again. It was easy to crowd Henry, who was a bit smaller than himself. They were both still dressed except for the jackets and Steve had never been more turned on by anything in his life.

He was sure the suit Peggy had sent him was among the most expensive items of clothing that Steve Rogers had ever worn in his life – if you didn't count the uniform Howard had made him, probably. The feel of it was _nice_. But _Henry_ ’s suit...

He looked at Henry and leaned over to whisper: “Turn around.”

Surprise mixed with desire on Henry’s face and he turned around without even asking for an explanation, no second guessing or hesitation holding him back, as he leaned slightly against the desk. “And here I thought you wanted to get me out of my clothes, nice and easy,” he whispered and sounded like he couldn't wait for what Steve had in store for him _instead of it_.

The anticipation made his mouth water and he touched his hands to Henry's hips. They fit together so perfectly, like his hands belonged on those hips, like he should never let go.

“I like a man in a nice suit,” he nearly growled in Henry’s ear from behind and pressed himself against his back. “And you're a very attractive man in a very nice suit. Let me enjoy this.”

“You're just a tiny bit bossy, aren't you?” Henry didn't seem to mind at all.

“I’ve been called worse,” he whispered and started stroking his hands along Henry's buttocks and _up_ towards his back.

“Huh, I think I have a type.” Henry said and wriggled against him, suddenly not at all unhappy to let Steve close. And when Steve brushed a kiss against his neck he bucked back, pressing his whole body against Steve’s with a hissed sigh. “Fair warning. It’s been awhile since I did this with a man, Steve,” he murmured. “I might need...”

“For me, too,” he murmured against his nape; the dark brown hairs, smelling of product and soap, tingled his nose. “Some years.”

He hadn't forgotten what it felt like, of course. Just... this was different from the couple of times Steve Rogers had any encounters. 

Free to do so, he let his hands wander up and along Henry's sides, brushing his fingers over the vest. Henry's breath quickened, and Steve dipped his fingers carefully under the vest, stroked the man's body over his shirt. Henry shuddered and moaned very quietly.

“How the hell did I find you in a boring place like this?” Henry asked, his voice laced with the fire that as thrumming through Steve’s blood.

Steve hummed in answer and started grinding his crotch against the tight ass and the fabric, let Henry know exactly how wild this was driving him.

To steady himself Henry bent forward and over the desk and Steve saw it as the final invitation he needed to snake his hands around his hips to get better leverage as he rubbed against Henry. He bit his lips when pleasure started building and inappropriately, unbidden, that was when he thought: _I hope Peggy doesn’t want this suit back. I don't think that's going to go over well._

He had plans for both their suits that he'd rather keep between the two of them.

A hissing sound escaped Henry, when Steve grabbed him more tightly and pushed into him, essentially grinding and rubbing, using the friction to speed himself further towards the pleasure he was seeking. “Steve,” Henry breathed and arched his back, making a near silent moan escape Steve's chest.

He loved the sound of his name in that breathless voice, without the playful emphasis.

And that should really not be sending more blood to his erection, but, damn, damn, he wanted to hear his name again and again, wanted to rub and grind and hold Henry there until he was done – but then he also wanted so much more, wanted to hear Henry’s groans and cries of pleasure...

Most of all, he wanted Henry to enjoy this as much he did.

“Yes,” he whispered and snuck a hand around, from Henry’s side, slightly down, to his crotch and felt for the man’s stiff cock through the suit pants. He, too, was rock hard and it was easy to goad him into another perfectly needy sound.

“ _Steve_ ,” Henry moaned and this time it sounded like a plea wrapped in a promise.

“Down at the bar,” Steve whispered into Henry’s ear, leaning heavily on his back and nipping the soft shell of it before he spoke, “I was thinking about what it was you most likely wanted from me. Did you want a young man to suck you off, before you returned to the party? Is that how it works?” It had been how it worked once, but it looked like Henry would allow him much more, was ready to give himself up to Steve for both their pleasure right here and now. Would he let Steve fuck him over the desk, if he asked? On the bed?

Henry took in an audible breath and pressed closer to Steve while bucking into his hand, as he was stimulated. Steve was rubbing his hand up and down against the hard cock that was constrained in very tight, well tailored pants and Henry moved his hips to get more friction, rubbing his ass against Steve's crotch perfectly in the process. “Me?” He chuckled without any breath in it. It was one of the most perfect sounds Steve had ever heard. “I feel like you had your own set of plans here, _young man_. Tell me.” He let himself unrepentantly rut into Steve's hand and drew a long moan from Steve with the friction that caused between them.

“I thought I had,” Steve admitted. “But now... I’m actually wondering what will be more sexy: Me sucking you off or you on your knees in this suit, sucking me off. You don’t look like someone who doesn’t get what he wants, so _tell me_ what is it you want, Henry.”

Henry arched back, against him, forward, into his touch and Steve tightened his grip on his hard cock, against the strained fabric, felt the tension and need for more flood through both of them. Henry’s sudden _silence_ as he moved against Steve, rolling his hips deliberately, was another little turn on.

Soft puffy breaths. Nothing more. 

Then Henry leaned back, his breath ghosting against Steve's chin and he licked his perfect lips in anticipation, drawing Steve's gaze to them immediately. He did not contest or contradict either of Steve’s fantasies, but surprised him, by closing his eyes and sighing. “That sounds lovely. I’ll do whatever you want, _Steve_. You’ve been doing just fine with bossing me around. And I’m told I have a very… talented mouth. Please, please, just do something about… this.”

He rolled his hips back against Steve's hard cock, and Steve hissed loudly, just as Henry leaned back further and kissed him. At the angle it wasn't deep and dirty, but he let his unoccupied hand reach up and stroke along the man's perfect throat, stroking until he gripped his jaw and could hold them in a more thorough kiss, open mouthed and hot.

When they drew apart, Henry's lips were glistening with saliva. He looked like sin personified and Steve simply drew him back into another heated kiss, unwilling to lose this connection. And Henry _was_ good with his mouth.

Too good maybe.

It was too much, too good already, and he wanted to pace himself, but also didn't want to. He let his hands open Henry's belt, managing to do it without looking. The fly of the pants was opened quickly and then he let his hands slide against soft skin beneath the briefs he found there and finally settle around the soft, soft steel he’d been looking for.

Henry _groaned_ into his mouth, Steve’s lips vibrating with the sound.

Steve enjoyed the feel and texture of his cock, stroking it and letting Henry roll his hips and set his own pace.

It took what felt like seconds until they had broken the kiss and were heavily leaning on the desk, both a terrible mess, both ready to fall apart, getting too close too fast.

“Steve, please,” Henry sang. His voice was a husky whisper of sex and building orgasm, his cadence matching the rhythm they were setting. “Please, stop. I'm not that young anymore. Let's make it count, okay?”

Oh god, how he wanted that. Make it count. He kissed Henry's nape and let his weight push down on his lover heavily. He had stopped his stroking, but his hand rested against the hard length still. His own erection was getting painful.

They stayed like this, panting, waiting, settling.

Finally Henry pushed up, made Steve take a step back and leave him. “Bed,” he sad decisively. “Do you want your blowjob now, or...”, he asked and his voice went very husky, “do you want to fuck me first?”

The crude language, just like anything else, was like thunderclap of anticipation, too hot and sexy.

Henry was slowly turning in his arms, causing more friction and Steve had to close his eyes and heave a sigh, tried to steady himself. “Language”, he whispered, earning himself an amused chuckle from Henry, who whispered back: “Are you for real? Where the hell did they hide you all these years? The ultimate gentleman?”

“No,” he protested, but Henry was drawing his nimble hands up and down Steve’s sides in such a distracting manner that he couldn’t even remember what he needed to say next.

“You look flushed,” Henry whispered against his cheek. “Makes you look both more and less perfect, soldier. That is what I want to see. I want to see you wrecked and messy. So, what is it? Want me to take you apart by whispering dirty nothings into your ear right here or do you want to fuck me into the mattress? I’m offering.”

He kissed Steve, softly on the mouth. The tender, affectionate quality of the caresses provided the perfect contrast to his words and Henry was careful not to press too close, careful not to let it escalate again right here and now

It was only half successful.

Electrifying need curled inside Steve’s belly like a snake, ready to strike and the forward offer together with the loving, careful kiss… It drove him crazy. “Yes,” he breathed and then conquered the offered mouth. He had never been much for kissing during sex, he had always preferred the touches, the actually _act_. But perhaps that was because he’d never kissed the right person - had never been kissed by the right person. Because he couldn’t get enough of kissing Henry, who challenged him, who didn’t let Steve easily control the kiss unless he _allowed_ it.

They kissed, deep and hard and _dirty_ this time.

The longing was mounting again and Steve grabbed Henry by the hips to pull him closer, tightening the loose embrace. Henry whimpered when his crotch rubbed against Steve’s leg and Steve lost himself in the tangle of wet mouths, but remembering his purpose pulled Henry towards the bed, ready to see this through to its pleasurable culmination.

He was so hard and Henry was so perfect, pushing his own tongue into Steve’s mouth as he went along.

They tumbled onto the bed like they were one, side by side, and just for a moment their chests bumped into each other.

Something pressed into him hard and uncomfortable. A hard edge of something hidden beneath the black shirt. 

Steve’s eyes flew open and he hadn’t even realized he had closed them.

Henry whispered: “Sorry, sorry, careful. That...” He pulled up into a sitting position and away from Steve’s prying hands. “Never mind. Shirt stays on, right?”

“What is it?”

They were both panting. Steve sat up, expecting an explanation now, realizing this was why Henry had been reluctant to get out of his shirt, had been reluctant to let Steve touch his chest or press them together. 

But Henry’s eyes flashed with sudden lust when he saw Steve’s pants strain painfully with the evidence of his arousal. Henry himself made an equally distracting picture, with his mussed hair, the bruised, wet lips and the shadowed eyes, his belt hang around his hips at and his pants were wide open, his erection visible under the red of his underwear.

Steve could smell it, still had trails of pre-come on his fingers from before.

“Oh, oh, _that_ ,” Henry said and he was still staring at Steve’s crotch. He waved his hand to his chest though. “Don’t worry about it. Medical thing. You want me to leave my shirt on anyway, right? The scars aren’t nice to look at, so...”

He said it in such casual rush of word as if he was discussing the weather. Then he sat up to kiss Steve again. The rush of the renewed touch was enough that it nearly went out of Steve's head as soon as he heard the words, but it seemed to important... More small pieces of this enigma were unraveling in front of his eyes, under his mouth and hands now, but he had to take the time to hold Henry by the shoulders and ask: “Will it be fine?”

“Don’t push too hard against my chest. Painful for you, painful and potentially a hazard for breathing for me.”

The words came out in a husky rush, like it was all part of the foreplay, like it was nothing at all to worry about.

Steve brushed a hand down the middle of Henry’s chest and the man went _still_ , impossibly _still_ , surprised by the motion and obviously nervous. Steve’s fingers found the metal edge and stoked along it. He had no idea what kind of medical condition would make something like that necessary, but there was so much he wouldn’t know about what procedure were done these days.

“I’m sure you’re beautiful anyway,” he whispered. “I don’t mind scars.”

He meant it. Suddenly Henry had become just a little more real. Maybe for the first time Steve understood what the other man could have meant when he’d said Steve was too handsome. Not real.

Henry was becoming more perfect by the minute, but also more real.

 _Both a little lonely, both a little broken,_ Steve thought. _But he’s so perfect._

“You said you liked the suit,” Henry pointed out and he was casting down his eyes, tension visible. It looked demure for all but a second, then he said, “fuck me like this,” in the most demanding tone possible.

And Steve was not going to deny him. He watched as Henry pulled a square of plastic from his pant pockets and a small white tube that was probably hand cream or something like it. Good, good, oh god, he hadn’t even thought of that.

 _Does he carry that stuff around?_ And why was Steve feeling a sudden spike of jealousy when he had no idea who this man was? Henry wasn’t even his actual name.

“Don’t look offended,” Henry admonished and held up the small square pack so Steve could take it from him, “I’m sure you’re clean, but I have my rules for this kind of thing. You should, too, if you’re about to do this again… with anyone you pick up in a bar.”

 _Oh_ , he thought and wondered what it meant that Henry had rules about this sort of thing. Hadn’t he said it had been a long time since he’d been with a man? _Ohhhh,_ he thought and remembered that his own last missed date would have been with Peggy. _Of course._

His throat went dry as he reached for the condom and he said softly: “I’m not offended. It’s smart.” Swell, he’d nearly said swell. But he’d learned already that nobody said that anymore. He wasn’t about to impart that contraceptive had been promoted in the army and so readily available that covering the muzzles of rifle barrels to prevent fouling had only been one of the common used for them. Nobody had promoted them for the use between men, of course, but Steve new that preventing pregnancy wasn't exactly the only reason why the precaution had been promoted to soldiers.

For understandable reasons he also wasn’t about to say: “Don’t worry, Henry. I’m Captain America, it’s unlikely that there’s any sexually transmitted disease that could get past the super soldier serum. It’s all swell, darling. Lie back and let me worry about you.”

Maybe that was a conversation for another time, if there _were_ any conversations to be had after this.

He opened the little package carefully and watched, Henry lick his lips in anticipation. “Come here,” Steve said. “Help me with this.”

And that was all it needed to let Henry know that they were going to do this - like this, mostly dressed in fancy suits. It seemed to give Henry as much of a thrill as him and watched as the other man got to his knees on the mattress absentmindedly kicking his shoes off and off the bed as he came closer.

Steve had to sit on the side of the bed to untie his laces before he could to the same, leaving his socks with them too. Before he had finished and sat back up, Henry was by his side, arms folding around Steve’s shoulders. He leaned over Steve’s shoulder now, pressed close to his back even now that he wasn’t hiding the metal thing anymore, and kissed him, softly on the brow, his hands snaking along Steve’s arms and along his sides and then down and down and down till they reached his belt. Clever fingers made quick work of the claps and then the belt was pulled away and joined his jacket in an untidy heap on the floor with a satisfying soft thud.

Steve must have growled, sighed, made a needy noise he’d never heard from himself.

Henry kissed his throat when he finally had his hands on his cock. “God, _Steve_ , you’re all hard for me. So perfect.”

He hummed in answer, snatched Henry’s hand by the wrist and showed him how he liked to be stroked. Henry held his breath, teeth buried in his bottom lip as he concentrated, and allowed Steve to direct his hand.

“So ready,” he crooned. “Ready to give me the ride of my life, huh?”

He leaned back into Henry, felt the pressure of the medical device against his back for a moment as he relaxed into the touch.

“Come on,” Henry urged and he pulled Steve up on the bed, where Steve drew himself up on the knees and watched Henry lean over to pull Steve’s pants down to pool around his knees, joined then by his boxer shorts.

His cock bobbed free and Steve reached for Henry, hand settling on one of his shoulders. He was fighting for control here, wanted to buck his hips, wanted to push over and over into the long fingered, strong hand with the calluses that he found so intriguing, wanted to come and come and come again.

Finally Henry stroked him again, rolled out the soft latex across his erection. And Steve groaned. It was so good, but not enough. His eyes had fallen closed again and he opened them to peer down at his lover, just as Henry surprised him by going down on all fours and... licking along his cock.

He groaned and nearly jerked forward.

“Hold still,” Henry demanded, but his voice was getting more and more breathless again, too.

Soft lips, soft and bruised from all the kissing, pushed down around the head of his cock and sucked, carefully, then harder. He nearly cried out with pleasure, the overwhelming friction too perfect. He reached down to brush his thumb along Henry’s jaw and also caressed his lower lips. Henry moaned at the same time he pushed forward and swallowed more of Steve’s length. Steve nearly came undone.

“ _Henry_ ,” he breathed and was rewarded with more sucking. “Yes,” he groaned and rolled his hips, careful, but insistent, his hand never leaving the other man's jaw as he guided him, led him. He felt himself in Henry’s mouth, felt the tongue working, felt the cheeks hollow to suck.

He didn’t want to stop, at the same time tried hard to hold back, but felt his hips pick up a rhythm that Henry was forcing on him with soft caresses, the calculated grazing of teeth and perfect wet heat.

Steve had given quite a few blowjobs in his life and only received a few, but already this one stood out.

Through half lidded eyes he watched the other man on his knees just like in his random fantasies of minutes before; and it looked like Henry was enjoying himself. Steve watched him reach into his own underwear to pull at his own cock and stroke himself while he pleasured Steve, suit pants still firmly around his buttocks. It was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen in his life.

Drawing closer and closer to a quick orgasm, and nearly letting himself fall onto his back when Henry _whimpered_ around his cock, when Steve pushed forward too harshly, Steve decided he had to stop if this wasn’t supposed to end so soon.

With carefully employed strength he made Henry sit back, watched his erection slip from the bruised lips with a soft pop. Henry look up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Turn around. On all fours,” he ordered and helped Henry get back into his previous position. But this time, Steve was behind him, hard and impatient. In his impatience he pushed down Henry’s pants together with his underwear.

Henry was too busy moaning to complain. 

Steve stroked a hand along his perfect round butt cheeks. 

“I knew you knew what you wanted, pretty, strong soldier like you,” Henry murmured and made sure Steve found the little container of cream on the bed. 

He took it eagerly. The contents smelled sweet and he tested some of it on his fingers, warmed it a little, before he started to work a finger into Henry’s opening without much of a warning.

The man arched his back and gasped, tensing around Steve’s finger.

Tight.

God, he was tight. It really must have been sometime since he’d last done this.

“Relax,” Steve whispered and leaned over him, “relax.”

“Work me open, _Steve_ , please, come on. Do it. I need it.”

Even though Henry still said his name like it was part of an act, he liked the way it fell off his lips. It rolled off his tongue like an amused song, a studied prayer.

He reached around Henry, weighed his balls in his hand, made sure that his erection had only wilted and not vanished. As he carefully worked first one and then two fingers of his other hand in and out of him.

“Please, please, please,” Henry begged and moaned. “Perfect. So perfect. More, please.”

And before long, he found the right spot. Henry cried out, tensed and relaxed all at once.

“You have no idea how much I want you inside of me right now.”

“God, Henry,” he gasped. “You know exactly how to talk to a man’s cock, don’t you? I didn’t see this coming.”

“Didn’t?”

“That you have a bit of a mouth on you? No.”

With some more of the cream he made sure his own cock was slick, then he carelessly wiped his hand against his thigh.

He couldn’t wait anymore. He stroked a hand along Henry’s ass, massaging it, feeling the sudden need to lean down and sink his teeth into the buttocks, and then let his hands wander up along Henry’s back. The texture of the vest reminded him of his own state of half-dress and he nearly moaned, felt the need pulse with his heartbeat. Faster and faster. He rested one strong hand on Henry’s hip and pressed him into position with the other, guiding him with a sure press on his shoulder.

God, he had missed sex.

And he had never been in this position.

Not like this.

Not with a beautiful, well dressed man begging him for it like there was no tomorrow.

“Please, Steve, please, please.”

Carefully he pushed himself in, listened to the intake of breath from his lover and allowed himself to feel this moment, the sliding of flesh against flesh. The tip of his cock slipped in easily and they both froze, getting used to the feel, the pressure, the heat. It was Henry who pushed back first, surprising Steve into a half-groaned curse.

“Language,” Henry admonished between gasps, mimicking his tone from earlier perfectly.

“You don’t want to hear some of the dirty talk I learned in the army,” he warned, breathless and having a hard time not setting a harsh pace now. He rested his brow against Henry’s shoulder blades to make sure the other man could feel his weight, could feel he was the one in control, while Henry moved to slowly coax him to move.

“Try me,” Henry mumbled between breaths.

And that was as far as he got about being contrary before Steve started to push forward meeting Henry stroke for stroke. He nibbled his ear before he straightened, settling his hands along Henry’s middle and on his hips to have better leverage as he started to push into him again and again, faster and faster, enjoying the pliant body, the moans of pleasure, the feel of strong muscles under his hands.

“Steve, yes,” the man moaned. _This_ was what he wanted his name to sound like.

This.

Always.

It was such a stupid thought.

And, yet, it was like the last little drop of passion that pushed him over the edge.

He reached around Henry, finding the silky heat of his cock that was wet with pre-come and let the man rut into his fist.

“So good, so good.”

It didn’t even matter that they had never discarded their clothes. This was the most intimate he’d been with anyone since before the war and he shuddered and gasped and let the heat build up with every new motion, with every new push and shove, with every tightening of Henry’s muscles.

Henry jerked when he hit that sweet spot again, crying out, his muscles tensing so fast, so hard, so perfect, closing around Steve like a blessing, so perfect, perfect, blissfully perfect and yet not enough.

“Again, harder,” Henry gasped and helped Steve find the right angle again by arching his back. Henry’s moans grew louder, indecent and perfect and Steve had the inappropriate thought that the whole floor would know now what the two men in this room were up to, that he was having Henry here begging for more.

He didn’t care.

He wanted more of it.

“Harder,” Henry begged. “Please, hard.”

He obliged, jerked his hips, so close, close, close himself, could feel the climax build in his belly, could feel the heat turn into that sweet noiseless spot between pleasure and pain and then Henry cried out, jerked up, spraying come all over Steve’s hand, while he milked him for more and more and more. Henry’s arms gave out and he sagged forward, relaxed, boneless, still moaning and whispering his passion into his folded arms and the fabric of his perfect and now rumpled black suit.

Steve wasn’t finished though and he fastened his hands to Henry’s hips hard, trapping his spent form before he could slip away and guided himself towards his own orgasm, keeping the rhythm. He moaned and groaned, drew more hisses and moans from Henry. He came closer and closer, rode the high to new heights, enjoyed the heat, the abandon, the loss of control, and finally grabbed Henry by the shoulder, not ungently, to force his upper body up and against Steve’s chest. Henry groaned, surprised, but let himself be manhandled, pushing back on Steve’s cock, molding himself against his body, back to chest, needy and pliant and willing.

The suit fabric rustled between them and their shirts were rumpled and damp with sweat now, when Steve pulled Henry back and into a kiss, never breaking his rhythm.

The ensuing kiss was like a desperate battle, like a perfect challenge, like a final sparking of an already spreading wildfire and Henry was as into it as he was, grateful, spent but maybe not completely sated on the human connection, on the shared passion. Steve loved it, the feel, the texture, the heat and passion, the need echoed in both of them - and finally, pushing into Henry’s pliant body once, twice, three times more, he came undone, groaning his orgasm into his lover’s welcoming mouth.

It was Henry who reached back around to grasp Steve’s head and bringing their brows together after the kiss was broken. Although the angle must be uncomfortable, he held them there while he let Steve buck and jerk and ride it out as long as he needed, whispering encouraging nonsense.

“Perfect, perfect, you are so perfect, Steve, see, perfect, coming for me, in me…”

Steve spent himself, desperate to make the moment last, desperate to remain here in this single instance of perfection he'd experienced since waking up, in this point of time that was both the calm of fulfillment and the hot yearning for more.

They remained like that for as long as it lasted, for as long as Steve needed. At some point his hand had slipped into Henry's hair and he was holding them, faces still pressed together in a flawless position of intimacy. When the pleasure was slowly ebbing, letting his thoughts return, giving him back the ability to move, he didn't release Henry, but pressed a kiss on his brow. Only then did he carefully pull away, let his limp cock slip from Henry's body.

Henry whimpered, moaned and then let himself fall forward onto the mattress face first.

He was a picture of sated exhaustion – and a complete mess with his suit pants and underwear still tangled around his legs and shirt and vest and hair – and perfect buttocks exposed for Steve's gaze. Mindful to not make the mess any worse, he removed the condom and pushed it on the nightstand carefully.

Because now they were getting uncomfortable, he shrugged out of his pants the rest of the way and threw them over the edge of the bed to fall somewhere close to the rest of his mostly discarded suit, aware that Henry had turned to his side and was watching him from one lazy half-opened eye.

_Does he want to resolve this now? Sex done and he wants me to leave?_

But Henry made no move to get up, made no move even to rid himself of his own pants – or gather them up.

He peered up at Steve with a new kind of relaxed interest, now that their thirst for each other had been quenched for now.

Seeing this as another, different, invitation, Steve let himself sink down beside Henry, let a hand rest, casually, on the man's exposed hip where he could see bruises forming that matched his fingers perfectly. He should feel worse about it, but Henry wasn't complaining. In fact Steve loved that he'd managed to turn the put together man from the party into this messy, half-dressed lover, wearing the signs of their tryst so visibly.

He settled down with one arm under his head and stared at Henry's nape, watched his breathing even out and slow. Gently he started stroking motions along his hips, across the bruises he'd left – a quiet apology, silent praise. He wasn't sure himself which.

“That was intense,” Henry finally said, his voice back to normal, back to the cock-sure half-mocking tone of the man from the bar.

Steve liked it even more now that so many little secrets had been revealed, so many little details had been added to form a picture of the complex person underneath. _You know what he sounds when he comes now, husky and needy and open._

He bit his lip at the thought and said: “Yes. Intense.”

Henry turned around with some trouble, the restriction of the pants around his legs a bit of a hindrance.

Steve smiled and Henry just rolled his eyes like that didn't matter right now.

“Better?” he asked and watched Steve from those deep, deceptively open brown eyes. And Steve thought: _He's hiding behind extroverted behavior, like you've been hiding behind duty, propriety, rules and going through the motions._

“Better?”

“The ache?”

Bemused, he frowned. “Ache? Is that what you call it?”

Henry laughed and it reached the eyes right away, no subterfuge, no hiding. This was a real laugh. “Sometimes. Times can be desperate. I mean...” He seemed to think it over. “I meant did I take your mind off whatever you wanted your mind taken off of?”

That was something they shared, wasn't it?

“Did I manage to distract you?” he shot back.

“Quite thoroughly for the moment.” Henry smiled.

Henry.

All of a sudden he wanted to know his name - his real name.

But even the thought of asking felt like it was a violation of their unspoken contract for this intimate encounter. He was no fool. They were here because of the anonymity and the unconstrained ease it afforded them.

Would Steve be here under any other circumstance?

No.

Even remembering SHIELD and Peggy and the handful of people he interacted with regularly, made him clamp up.

This had been his first taste of freedom to live a normal life.

Although maybe he'd prefer it less casual under normal circumstances.

“Hey,” Henry said lightly, and he softened his admonishment with a small half-smile. “Don't brood. There will be absolutely no brooding here whatsoever. Understood? I'm still enjoying the perfect afterglow, okay?”

A smile tugged at his own lips. “I was that good, yeah?”

Henry chuckled. “Memorable, I'd say.”

He laughed. “Same,” he said and then leaned in to kiss Henry. It was supposed to be a small thank you, just another peck on the lips, nothing more. But it wasn't Henry who turned it into a real kiss, as Steve clung to his lips like a desperate man. It was Steve who couldn’t get enough. Now that reality was seeping back into his thoughts, he didn't want this to end. He'd never felt as good or as much as he belonged in the here and now until this had happened and thinking of cleaning up and going back out there, meeting this confusing new world again, returning to his empty apartment that felt like a foreign country, was unbearable.

“Wow,” Henry breathed against his lips. “Wow, _Steve_. You really are full of surprises. I guess this means you don’t want to go back to the party now.”

 _He wants to say good-bye,_ Steve realized and felt his face fall. Of course, he knew that this had always been part of the plan. Casual encounters ended, no questions asked. That was like it had always been. He’d done it before. And the world hadn’t changed that much to change the rules.

He just didn't want it to end so soon. He didn’t want to go back to…

Oh.

Only when Henry's fingers settled loosely around Steve’s half-hard cock, did he understand that Henry hadn't been talking about the kissing.

“Ready for another round already? You're putting me to shame, soldier. Give me a moment, I'm not quite there yet, but don’t let it stop you.”

Another round?

That didn't sound at all like Henry was letting him down gently, because he wanted to get out of here. It sounded like - like _more_.

He licked his lips and only noticed the unconscious reaction when Henry laughed at him.

“It's really been a while for you. You’re insatiable. Making up for lost time?”

“Maybe,” he said, husky and wild, when the lust flooded back in, spread through his loins, “- you're just special?”

“Oh, yeah, I'm sure,” Henry said and grinned wide. “Special. That’s me.”

_He doesn't believe you. Casual. This is casual sex. It's not supposed to be that special?_

They remained on their sides, Henry's hand on his cock, stroking him with slow and unhurried motions, making his wilted erection come back to life slowly.

“Let me look at you,” he said and in his lust addled state it took Steve a moment to get what he wanted. He wanted him out of his shirt and stark naked in front of his eyes.

Voice nearly lost in his intake of breath, he asked: “Will you?” He softly and very carefully put a hand against Henry's chest.

Henry's chocolate brown eyes widened, narrowed, and then softened. “No,” he said quietly. “Let's not go there. I think I'm not ready for that and panic attacks don't help with the mood. Well known fact.”

Panic attacks.

He said it so casually and there was only with a hint of insecurity. Most men - even today he’d been told by his nice liaison officer - had trouble admitting to something like this. 

Too many stories there. Too many vulnerabilities. 

A tiny show of trust that had no place between strangers.

Steve kissed him then, slowly, insistently, sweetly, showing his appreciation. There was no need to talk. It was so much easier to let his own fire build and tide them both over into the newly awakened passion. He wanted to worship this man, give him exactly what he needed to see his scars as part of himself.

He knew too much about feeling uncomfortable in your own body, too much about feeling like there was a barrier between you and the rest of the world.

And he was sure that beneath Henry’s shirt, whatever injury had marred him, whatever medical device he was carrying, that he was maybe not perfect, but beautiful. He only needed to stroke his lean but muscled thighs, his perfect stomach to know all he needed. This man took good care of himself and maybe that was why imperfection was hard to take - but it wouldn’t bother Steve. 

But Steve understood the need to hide your imperfections and accepted it. He carefully stroked a hand along Henry's stomach right over his pelvis, gratified to hear the soft intake of breath.

He was about to suggest that he could suck Henry until he screamed in helpless pleasure, imagining the sweet sounds he would make when Steve went down on him - drawn from him by Steve’s mouth -, when the man reminded him of his own previous demand and started unbuttoning Steve's silvery grey vest quickly to get at the buttons of the white shirt beneath. “Come on,” he whispered. “You're such a sight to behold. Show me.”

Not the least bit self-conscious these days, he shrugged out of the shirt easily. He immediately regretted the loss of the stimulation though, as Henry let go to give him room to move freely.

Eyes racked his body as he sat on his haunches, naked and waiting for Henry's judgment. For his part the man was studying him lazily, stared at his chest, his thighs, his shoulder and finally met his gaze and Steve could see the exact moment, when the desire grew from a nearly extinguished fire back into a raging inferno. Steve's heart fluttered, nervous, flattered, humbled by the other man's attraction and his easy need for him.

“You are perfect,” Henry said.

“Too handsome?”

“I'm a little sorry I said that, but yeah. You kind of are. It’s indecent.”

“A little sorry?” 

Henry was inspecting Steve's chest, but it was clear that his eyes strayed to the angry red cock between his thighs too. “I can still see the resemblance with Mr. Brave and Righteous Role Model, but _Steve_ , you're so much better.”

His breath caught in his throat, even though he had the sinking feeling he was reading too much into the innuendo. “You really don't like Captain America?” 

And why was that so - welcome?

Henry licked his lips and made a humming sound - the exact sound that he'd made when his mouth had been locked around Steve's cock. “Probably more complicated than that,” he said, closing the topic with what was only half an admission. “Doesn't matter. It's not like Captain America is here to show me a good time. What matters is that you're here and more handsome than you’ve any right to be. _Indecent._ ”

Steve's mouth went terribly dry. It was strange to hear someone talk about yourself like you weren't there and say nothing to contradict it. But the truth was, right now he wasn't sure he liked the idea of Captain America himself. He'd been made a propaganda story, a historical record - a prized hero found and taken in by SHIELD, who had no real purpose. All day agents looked at him like he was hope returned to them from the ice, when he felt like nothing more than the confusion of a man who'd lost too much, seen too much – and who was now lost himself.

He was glad when Henry sat up too, scrambled over and got his hand busy, stroking Steve’s cock and kissing him with fervor. With his free hand he touched Steve's chest, stroking all over as if he was trying to commit all of it to memory.

“So fucking perfect. I'm getting hard again just looking at you. I want to watch you when you come this time. Steve, Steve, Steve, come for me again.”

At Henry's words he jerked his hips up, helpless, exposed and naked in front of this still half dressed man's desire. This man who had been so pliant, so ready to give himself to Steve before, who still had not complained about the bruises he’d left on his hips even once. He wondered if they could come like this, together, stroking each other, kissing.

Henry touched him less careful now, with Steve's cock having hardened to a full erection again by now.

Steve decided it was time to return the favor. He took Henry in hand and started to coax his half-limp erection back into existence.

“Steve,” the other man breathed and let himself be pulled along with Steve into the waves of lust and feeling and pleasure. His name sounded _real_ , like Henry had forgotten they were playing a game that Steve had never actually been playing. They kissed, stroking each other, stroking and sighing and both reveling in the taste and feel of each other. Henry didn't even protest when Steve pulled him closer this time, when they kissed with him leaning against Steve chest.

He felt the shirt and vest against his naked skin and wanted to rip it off, or leave it there, touch it, touch under it, as the need escalated into a new urgency he hadn't known before. It was like the renewed passion was burning even stronger.

“Henry,” he whispered, warning, plea or prayer. He didn't know himself.

“Look at you,” Henry crooned. “Just look at you. You’re fucking perfect.”

And with that he pushed Steve, gently, oh so gently down on the mattress.

Steve looked up at him. There was something nearly too erotic, too enticing about the fact that he was naked, completely bared to the other man's lustful gaze and Henry was still wearing the vest and that expensive black button down shirt that hugged his body and with its color made his skin look a perfect shade of sun-kissed.

It was too soon, too fast again and yet this time not as fevered and Steve was ready. He'd take whatever Henry wanted to give him if only the man would get his hands back on his body. That was what he needed. Touch, caring hands, warmth and connection. The feeling of not being alone and being in the moment. He _needed_ it and had gone without for too long.

When Henry pulled another condom from his pant’s back pocket, that by now lay crumbled somewhere to Steve’s right, he gasped. “How many people were you here to pick up?” he asked, not insulted, but strangely jealous, filled with the need to keep Henry’s attention on him and only him. Before he got an answer Henry made him moan loudly when he stroked the sensitive skin between his thighs, treating Steve like you would a nervous stallion who had to be settled.

“None,” Henry said and met Steve’s eyes dead on. “I used to do this a lot in the past, but I haven't in a long time.” He motioned to his chest for emphasis, reminding Steve of the medical _thing_ he was reluctant to reveal.

“But the...?”

“I sent my driver to get some, before I approached you at the bar.”

His throat went dry. _Got them for me? Got them because he wanted to sleep with me? More than once?_

He had trouble saying anything when Henry got busy with his cock again, massaging his balls expertly, while the other hand positioned the latex sheath.

Then Henry was putting it on him again and only then did he fully understand he'd expected to be fucked now, his legs spread wide and begging for Henry to not be gentle. It wasn’t his preferred position, but he wouldn’t have complained, ready right now to give part of himself to make this strange encounter, last and last. The image of a half-clad Henry spending himself between his legs went right to his loins and he sighed, as the strong sure hands handled his length and spread some more of the cream to make entrance easier.

He would have allowed it - hell would have _enjoyed_ \- , but if Henry wanted it this way - he would be the last person to deny him.

The friction, the easy gliding of long fingers around his cock… It was heaven. And Henry knew now exactly how he liked to be touched and showed him.

Steve tried to prop himself up on his elbows, wanted to see what Henry was doing and couldn’t wait to find out what he had planned for him.

“Stay down.”

“I…”

“Stay down, Steve,” Henry told him very decisively and then grinned. “Lie back and let me do all the work. Enjoy.”

He swallowed. His cock pulsed in Henry’s hand and he licked his lips in anticipation as he let himself fall back against the pillow. They were still doing all this on top of the bedspread and the room was warm enough for this not to be uncomfortable. He hoped he would get Henry to rest with him between the sheets for a bit later.

All thoughts of rest flew out of his head though, when the man in question climbed into his lap, his naked butt grinding into Steve’s lower stomach as the man leaned over to kiss him some more.

He was hard and ready and he could see that Henry’s cock was slowly, slowly hardening again too.

When Henry whispered: “I’m going to ride you now, soldier, until you don’t remember your name. Your real name.”

And while he was saying it he lifted himself up on his knees, grasped Steve’s cock, non too gently and positioned himself.

Steve whined, could feels the head slipping in easily, because Henry was still stretched and loose from their previous lovemaking.

“I’ll bounce on your cock until I come and you’ll beg for more,” Henry promised, but he really didn’t need to, Steve was so in for this, watched hungrily as the other man slowly let himself down, impaling himself on his hard, pulsing length, first slowly then as far as it went.

Steve cried out, when perfect buttocks touched his balls and Henry stilled, giving himself a moment to adjust to the sensation, to the feeling of being filled. Steve bit his lip, tried to lie still, but he couldn’t, just couldn’t, He bucked up once, gently, watched Henry’s face contort in a mix of perfect bliss and a hint of discomfort. By the time the brown eyes opened and fastened back on his face, they were filled with an ocean of need that Steve knew he could get lost in. He wanted to get lost in.

“God,” Steve breathed. “Move. God, don’t stop.”

He propped up his knees, so Henry could lean against his legs as he bounced himself up and down, one hand firmly set on Steve’s chest to steady himself. At first he was the picture of calculated calm, but with every push, with every little moan he drew from Steve he became a little more wrecked. Steve himself moaned, open mouthed and overwhelmed by the tight heat and the perfect movements designed to drive him wild. He didn’t care what he looked like. This was too good.

But it was Henry’s face, as he rode Steve towards another orgasm that topped it all off.

He was so beautiful, so desirable in his blissful abandon, riding Steve’s cock as much for his own pleasure as Steve’s, his lips parted, his eyes closed. Steve wanted to hold him, own him, mark him. The image of him pushing himself up and down faster and faster, with closed eyes and panting would be edged into Steve’s mind forever. Steve groaned, arched his back. He knew he could last longer this time, with the edge of loneliness and deepest need taken off. But Henry was doing a good job of destroying his control. The way he impaled himself on Steve’s cock all over again, moaning indecently, and now gripping his own cock, stroking it in time, was just too much to take.

He joined in the rhythm Henry set for them, meeting him hard, bounce for perfect bounce, heard Henry gasp as Steve finally dared to grip him by the hips, pulling him down hard every time he pushed into him. And from there it all became messy passion and slick skin against skin. The fire of arousal danced through his body, built slowly in his belly, as the fire of a new orgasm promised to wash through him.

“Steve,” Henry breathed when Steve pulled him down until his bottom was flush against his balls again. “God, I’ll walk with a limp tomorrow. Wreck me, come on, destroy me. Make sure I’ll remember you for days.”

He gasped, shuddered, tried to hold off the inevitable climax. “I’m glad you don’t mind, darling,” he said, trying for suave and failing completely with the way he was panting. “I hope nobody else will mind if I send you home like this.”

Henry bounced up and down, head thrown back, sighing, sighing, moaning. Finally he looked down and Steve was caught in his gaze, but didn’t slow his movements even a bit. “Nobody will. Nobody waiting up for me. Believe me. But if I had a sexy partner like you waiting at home for me, I'd make sure I'm prepared and slicked up for you all day. I'd work my fingers into myself to make sure I'm loose and ready when you finally want me to bend over for you. And you'd bend me over every possible surface, wouldn't you? With that incredible strength of yours. And I’d let you. I’d beg you to. Holding me with your strong, strong arms. Mounting me like a wild horse during mating season...”

“Henry!” he moaned. He'd never been as _hard_ or turned on in his life. “Henry, Henry, Henry…” he muttered with every jerk of the hips, happy with every cry that pulled from the man’s perfect mouth and the images of them together, having sex in an apartment, of Henry begging Steve’s to take, of Henry preparing himself for him every day before he’d even ask… It was too much.

And this relentless pace did the rest.

Henry cried out, clenching down on him and Steve shot up into a near sitting position, Henry’s seed shooting out over Steve’s belly, while Steve was spending himself inside his body. Breathless, moaning, holding on to it Steve searched Henry’s mouth for a kiss and the fell down together on the bedspread, still locked together, still caught in the intensity of their climax.

 _I’ll never let him go,_ Steve thought as he wrapped Henry in an embrace, his cock softening inside him, his black shirt ruined, his brow sweaty and his lips red and bruised from kissing. _I’ll hide here with him forever._

Not letting go of his lover, he pushed and pulled until they had managed to settle under the covers.

* * *

At some point they must have drifted off to sleep, warm and too relaxed to move or even get up to clean themselves. Steve was woken by a beeping noise and found himself, warm and carefully tugged under the covers. The room was dark and from the window only the glow of the city lights threw shadows into the room.

He had fallen asleep his arms wrapped around Henry.

The warmth of his body still lingered.

But he wasn’t there. He was standing by the little writing desk, trying to tug his shirt into the suit pants to make himself look presentable.

“Sorry,” he said when he noticed that Steve was moving. “Didn’t want to wake you. You looked peaceful.”

He wasn’t even sure he’d remembered a word like peaceful existed, before falling asleep here. “Where are you going?”

Henry held up a phone. “Sorry, the annoying beeping is me. I’m needed.”

Perplexed Steve looked at the tiny digital clock on the night stand. “You’re needed at 3 AM in the morning?”

“Emergency,” the man said, voice tight.

“Oh.” He sat up under the covers. He was still stark naked and had half a mind of pouncing out and dragging Henry, complete with wrecked suit back in here with him.

But then… He had known this couldn’t go on forever. Henry had a real life to get back to. And Steve had a world to dissect until he felt comfortable in it.

This had been good.

So good.

He couldn’t remember when he’d last felt this well rested and this relaxed.

Sadly he smiled at Henry. “Thank you, this was quite the night.”

“Yeah,” Henry agreed easily and then leaned against the chair to watch him for a moment. “An unexpectedly pleasurable one.”

Another beep sounded through the room and Henry swallowed, watched the screen of his smart phone light up. “Sorry, I _am_ needed. This can’t wait.”

“Okay,” he said, resigning himself to fall back into reality now. “I don’t even know your real name.”

With a practiced motion Henry put on the black suit jacket. Then he stepped towards the bed and leaned over quickly to press a sweet, close-lipped kiss to his lips. “Neither do I, _Steve_.”

 _Ha,_ Steve thought. _See? You mother always told you that lying backfires on you. And you thought you were being smart._

Straightening up, brushing down his suit jacket, Henry met his gaze and Steve knew this was their final good-bye. “I used to sneak out leaving a note behind. You’re getting a kiss good-bye. I think that’s progress.”

He tried to smile. He really wanted to ask for that name again, but also knew there probably was no point. This had never been meant to be more than this. And what was he going to say now? _I’m sorry, handsome, I’m Captain America after all. I didn’t want to lead you on, but you wouldn’t have believed me. And my life is too complicated to hold on to anything simple, so it’s probably not going to work out anyway. So long. Good-bye. Buy war bonds._

This had been a perfect fantasy and maybe they should leave it at that, before simple got too complicated too.

“The room is paid,” Henry said. “You can stay here if you want.”

He nodded. “Thank you. I can’t tempt you to stay for one more round of kissing?”

The beep again. “No,” Henry said and waved. “Urgent. I’m sorry.” He was already by the door. “Good night, Steve. Look me up when you figure out my name. I’m easy to find, but - hmm, I guess getting through to me might be a problem. But I like to eat sandwiches at that hipster place two streets down from here. We might… bump into each other. Although, whatever. You’ll know…”

Steve watched him wave, his mouth probably standing open in awe and surprise. He hadn’t expected that kind of - invitation.

And Henry was gone, and it looked like he was sprinting out the door, closing it behind himself.

 _Emergency,_ Steve thought and climbed out of bed. There was no point staying here alone. He didn’t bother to turn on the lights as he moved around the room in semi-darkness. He gathered his clothes piece by piece and made sure the suit was wearable as he carefully put the pants on and disposed of the condoms in the small trash can in the bathroom. He surveyed the bed and decided he’d do his best to make it look a bit less messy, but first he walked over to the window and pulled back the curtain. New York’s lights flooded in full force then and he opened the window, to at least air the room a bit.

The busy streets, the electric lights - it was off putting yet fascinating. New York was still his home and he loved it. He just one day hoped he’d feel like he actually belonged here again.

A flash of something fast caught his eyes. It wasn’t a car he thought as he looked down and caught sight of it again. Whatever it was, it was flying in a perfect arc and upwards towards the night sky.

Arms and legs of metal, flashy red and gold colors.

_Iron Man. That’s Iron Man. That’s Howard’s kid. His very much grown up kid._

He’d heard the name at SHIELD - both names, Iron Man and Tony Stark - a couple of times. So far he’d deliberately stayed clear from any research into the man, had intentionally decided he didn’t want to know more about the man in the suit right now. It was too much to even face the fact that Howard’s son was Howard’s age or possibly even older than Howard had been.

Too much time had passed and another Stark would only make it more real.

The suit stopped, hovered in mid air, one leg drawn up to steady the construct in mid air.

Steve stared. It was hard to tell at the distance, but it looked like the robotic helmet turned to him, like Iron Man was looking at him in his hotel room window.

It was unlikely, but a shiver went down his spine. 

Then Iron Man sped into the night sky and was gone.

He remained in the window for a long time, wondering about the eerie first meeting between Captain America and Iron Man - a man from the past and a man who he was told was the foremost futurist of the country.

_What a night._

He gathered his things and returned the key.

The young man at the reception looked at him neutrally, told him that the room was already paid for and wished him a good night. He didn’t seem to wonder why someone would be leaving at this hour. 

Steve picked up his coat and thought about having someone call a cab for him. In the end he walked home - all the while thinking of Henry and his demanding kisses and his reluctance to undress in front of him, and of how damn good he had looked in the suit.

Warmth rose in his cheeks.

He wouldn’t forget this night.

On his way along the blocks he passed a fancy restaurant and from the corner of his eyes read something about sandwiches.

He remembered Henry saying: _I like to eat sandwiches at that hipster place two streets down from here. We might… bump into each other._

Ah.

He’d keep it in mind.

In fact, it was extremely unlikely he’d forget about it.

Later, when he had gathered his wits about him and had some time to think, he could make a decision about this being the best or worst of ideas.

* * *

“You look… more relaxed,” Agent Paris told him when he dropped in for his scheduled review appointment. “Things working out for you?”

It had been exactly 6 hours and 24 minutes, since he’d left the hotel room.

“I’m not even sure how to answer that question.”

She smiled. “Oh, well. We all have that problem. But it looks like something clicked for you today and it would be good for you to reflect on it. You’re arriving in the here and now.”

He tried not to smile like he usually would, trying to be nice, but staying a tad bit reserved, not allowing her to look behind the professional and polite facade. She had given up on her pretense that she wasn’t his counselor, but merely his liaison officer, his handler. They both knew, she wasn’t the later. Director Fury was talking to him directly when Steve needed one. 

“Yeah, Agent, I think you might be on to something,” he admitted in a deceptively neutral tone. “It’s good to be alive.”

Agent Paris was happy to make a note that his brief venture into civilian life had done its part in providing relaxation and helping him to cope with grief. At least he had a feeling that was what she was scribbling down.

He was not going to tell her that he was still grieving and that he’d spent less than an hour at the actual function or that it was because he’d found some better use of his time.

This was his secret and he was still deciding if he wanted it to stay as a pleasant piece of memory to carry around or if he was going to end up at sandwich place one day, asking if someone knew a man who wasn't called Henry Hellrung.

* * *

A day passed.

And then another.

He kept himself busy, although he already knew from experience that memories were a hard thing to ignore when they just came upon you. Letting his thoughts stray back to the hotel room, to “Henry” and the night they’d spent together, was a welcome relief from the memories of the war and the plane.

“Henry.” He still felt like he should have asked for a real name - although he still couldn’t say what he would do with it.

He was still who he was after all. And he had not once yet thought about simply quitting and walking away from the mantle of Captain America to live a peaceful life. What would Henry say to that when he found out?

Right now, peaceful life was what gave him trouble.

Another day passed.

Then he finally googled the name “Henry Hellrung”. A list of results sprang up - the first a Wikipedia entry. He gave it a cursory glance. The attached picture was not of the man he’d been with, although he could see the similarities in the cheekbones and facial structure. But Hellrung had blue eyes and his hair was a dark black. At least in the picture.

There was a list of parts he’d played in movies and TV shows and none of them were familiar to him, although the article pointed out that at least one of the earlier things he’d been in - _Anthem_ \- had reached cult status among fans.

Disappointed Steve went back to the search results and pondered what he’d have to enter into the search engine to get a chance to find people who looked like the actor.

He was drumming his fingers against the desk impatiently, thinking about it, while he scanned the rest of the results until something sprang out at him.

Stark.

He had a way of zooming in on all the names that reminded him of his past. The things he knew seemed like anchors in a sea of confusion.

At first he didn’t think about it too hard. Stark. It was just a name.

Then he read the whole line: “Henry Hellrung set to play Tony Stark in upcoming TV-Movie…”

Tony Stark.

Tony.

 _Stark_.

His stomach dropped right down to his boots and for a moment he felt more panicked than he’d ever felt in the middle of battle, than he’d felt when the plane had gone down... He didn’t dare click on the link though. He just stared at the name.

_Tony Stark._

Howard’s son and heir.

Iron Man.

Peggy had met Howard at the charity often, she’d said.

And “Henry” had been convinced that people looked at him and knew who he was.

_Tony Stark._

“Fuck,” he said out loud and felt like that helped a little with the way his heart was missing another beat.

He let the cursor hover over the link for a moment and finally clicked on it.

A page sprang up, detailing a movie project, centered around Stark’s “way to becoming a superhero”. It sounded like the script would be loosely based on the kind of facts that people had pieced together from interviews and media footage. Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries had voiced her displeasure. Stark himself hadn’t yet been available for comment.

Tony Stark.

There was a picture of him and the actor Henry Hellrung. They were sitting together at a table, and Stark was holding up a bottle of champagne; both of them were laughing hard and two dressed up young women were sitting at their sides, looking slightly awed. It looked like a hell of a party. The kind of hedonistic chaos that Bucky had loved and that Howard had indulged in more often than not.

It seemed the two men were wearing the same shirts, the same suit jackets. They looked like twins and even Hellrung’s eyes looked darker, Stark’s hair blacker. Had they staged this for the press?

The picture had been taken nearly 4 years ago.

But even with their attempt to look like they were two peas in a pod, Steve - who had only now found photos of Hellrung - had no trouble picking out Hen… _Stark._

No.

“Tony.” He tried it out and liked it better than Henry. Made it sound less like Howard. “I’m sorry, Howard. I may have seduced your son. No hard feelings,” he whispered towards the screen.

He hadn’t really done any seducing though.

He couldn’t even claim that Tony had seduced him.

They’d been drawn to each other by mutual attraction and they’d both followed it through to the satisfying end.

There was no one to blame.

“I should have insisted on a name,” he whispered. “A real one.”

But he hadn’t.

And Tony hadn’t either, although Steve had given him one.

He sat in front of the laptop and stared at the picture of a Tony Stark from before he had created Iron Man. He looked as handsome as he had a few days ago. For some reason he didn’t look like a man who had less secrets, who was less haunted than the man after the tragedy had made him a hero.

Wistful, wondering, Steve touched a hand to the monitor.

 _Bad idea,_ he thought. More so now than ever before.

He remembered Tony’s words about his father, about how his father had wanted him to be more like Steve.

_Bad idea._

He knew he’d meet Tony Stark again.

This time they’d have names.

And the reality of it would be a terrible complication. Tony would know soon that Captain America was alive.

How would he react when he found out…?

He closed the laptop and rested his forehead on it for a while.

For one moment of simple love he’d brought more complications into his life that was already more than he could take right now.

_You’ll see him again. You’ll have to apologize for the deception then. You knew he didn’t want Captain America._

That also put a nice end on the question of seeking for “Henry” in a little sandwich store. _You’ll know where to find me._ He did now. And although he hadn’t made up his mind at all about actually going there and making that one night of passion more than casual, he felt a door had been firmly shut on him.

He could see Tony again.

But next time it would be less than casual. He hoped he would have some time to mourn the possibilities of things that were now unlikely to happen.

Ah, the easy life, how he had missed it.

* * *

Of course, life after his venture into the bustle of 21st century New York went back to what it was. The memories of war did not just go away, neither did the night specters, nor the grief.

“Perhaps you should try going out more often?” Agent Paris remarked on what in his personal calendar was now the fourth day _after_ “meeting” Tony Stark “very casually”. He refrained from drumming his fingers against his thigh, because he knew she would take note of the nervousness barely contained in the action and ask her own subtle questions to make him open up about it. The only thing he was feeling today was anger and he had not yet figured out why he was feeling so angry or at what the anger was really directed.

“Go out?” He tried not to sound as impatient as he was feeling. More than ever he was tired of all the well meant advice. He still couldn't say he _regretted_ his night out.

But now he was wary of the consequences.

Consequences that he hadn't anticipated when he'd enthusiastically signed up for the anonymous encounter.

Something in his expression must have caught the agent's eye, because she said: “You do realize that you could go anywhere? You don't have to stay in New York. We thought it would be easier for you...”

“In a familiar place?” he finished and laughed, because he'd wondered if other places would have been less jarring. But this was home. “Yeah, perhaps. I'll think about it.”

Instead he went about his normal routine, which involved running laps for hours and then going to the gym beating one sandbag after another. It helped him clear his head sometimes.

Today it didn't.

He'd dreamed of the ice and the cold and so far he hadn't been able to shake it. The first sandbag flew off the hook – and of course that was when Fury walked in. He hadn't seen the man in a while and the way he was looking at him now, Steve knew immediately that something was up.

“Trouble sleeping?”

“I slept for 70 years, sir. I think I've had my fill.”

“Then you should be out, celebrating, seeing the world.” It sounded like all the other times he'd heard it, endless variations on a theme. But Fury didn't look like someone who was here to dish more well meant advice to help his only super soldier back into a semblance of normalcy. Fury was looking for a soldier.

And Steve was ready to walk away from that.

He wasn't sure yet what his place with SHIELD he wanted to take. He knew he was an “asset”. Captain America had always been seen as a government asset. But Steve had pushed back then to carve out a space for himself even then.

Looked like he needed to do it again.

After a bit of back and forth Fury finally hinted at why he was here – speaking to Steve in the gym, not out in the usual conference room or lab space.

A mission.

“Trying to get me back in the world?” It had only been a matter of time, and now he wondered for a brief instant if his levity after - _after_ “meeting Tony Stark very casually” - had started off a new chain of events. Perhaps they thought he was ready to become an agent...

But the colored printouts in the manila folder – and Steve damn well noted that Fury had chosen to hand him paper and no shiny flat device – told a different story. Steve Rogers was an asset, but the world did not revolve around him.

There was a mission.

A real one.

A dangerous one.

And it looked like this one had ties to the life he'd lost.

The Tesseract had been found when Howard had searched for him. Hydra's secret weapon. The thing had gone down when he had.

Suddenly, he was listening. This _was_ a mission.

This was a mission Steve Rogers needed to be on. And he was so tired of sitting around anyway.

“There's a lot we'll have to bring you up to speed on,” Fury told him, as if that wasn't something everyone told him on a daily basis. “If you're in.” 

So there was a choice. That was appreciated. Although he'd already made it. Fury seemed to realize it. “The world has gotten even stranger than you already know.”

He wanted to laugh.

He'd spent 70 years asleep. Between the serum running through his veins and the terrible things Hydra had thrown at him – he'd seen some _strange_ stuff. And he'd managed to go out of his protective shell of SHIELD facilities for one day to meet and connect with the one person who might be a headache for him now. How was that for surprises? “At this point,” he said, “I doubt anything would surprise me.”

He signed up without giving it a second thought. This felt like it was in part his responsibility after all.

The next day he was on a jet towards the mission and he went through all the information that was provided carefully. When the first file that popped up was Iron Man's - _Tony's_ \- he took one deep breath, went over the SHIELD information as if he had never heard anything about him ever before and asked not a single question. The file said Iron Man had not yet confirmed he'd be in, but it also noted that he had _taken_ \- and Steve wasn't green enough not to know that meant _unauthorized_ \- the SHIELD files on the mission, which seemed to indicate he was joining their efforts.

 _Figures,_ he thought and wondered if this was all a cosmic joke, designed especially to mock him.

What did he even have to offer at the side of trained SHIELD agents like Romanoff – or someone like the Hulk. Although they were pulling in Banner as the asset and not his dangerous alter ego.

He read up on Banner and found another connection that made it personal in someone who had tried to recreate the serum. He asked his questions, listened to the agent babble, nursing his own doubts. The last fight he'd been in had been 70 years ago – and against some of the worst forces the world had ever seen. But this – Loki – sounded like another level of enemy and there were green monsters and Iron Men to take care of it.

If Iron Man indeed showed up at some point.

But Steve was who he was. He'd never been able to act against his own character. Running was not in his nature.

He was going to do this.

He wanted to keep his head in the game.

He'd meet Banner and Romanoff and see where the mission would lead him.

Before they set down he gave Iron Man's file a last look. Arc reactor.

God. It made too much sense now.

With a last look at Tony's neutral expression in the files' picture, he switched off the device.

Time to be Captain America and figure out what that meant in this day and age.

* * *

He donned the new suit and went along with the mission plan. Banner was staying behind for the science and they'd try to contact Stark again to look into this. But for this part of it, it would be him an Romanoff.

Loki was there and he was as dangerous as the mission statement had warned them he would be. The fight in front of the Stuttgart opera house was hard and fast. But finally he had something to focus his anger on, without a need to pull his punches.

Momentarily he went down – the Asgardian strong enough to push him around like he was nothing more than a little boy. Steve wondered if he might be in over his head after all. 

Suddenly loud music blared, taking him and his adversary by surprise.

Then the next moment Loki was pushed through the air with as much force and carelessness as he'd show Steve before and Iron Man crashed into the pavement leaving parts of it destroyed with the heavy impact. While Steve picked himself up, he trained his weapons on Loki. 

With the music and the dramatic entrance this seemed like an unnecessary display for the public, but it had an effect on Loki, too, who stood down without making another move.

He stepped up to the armor that towered over him a bit. He'd seen it only that one time when he'd looked out the hotel window – everything else he'd seen were pictures in SHIELD files and on web pages - and in hindsight it made sense now why Iron Man had been there, right after “Henry” had left, because “he was needed for an emergency”. Had he lingered there for a moment to allow Steve to make the connection?

He shook his head to clear it and focus back on the matter at hand. 

The armor looked even more impressive from up close. If he didn't know already he wouldn't believe that a human being was inside that thing.

Loki surrendered. Tony stood down. 

Breathing heavily and relieved that the situation was under control now, but also keenly aware that Iron Man had saved him , that Tony Stark was standing right next to _Captain America_ who he knew now was alive after all, that this was the man he'd spent and incredible, intense night with who had not wanted to actually know him...

The armor gave nothing away.

He had to say something. 

“Mr. Stark,” he acknowledged. 

“Captain,” Tony's voice said in greeting, neutral and slightly distorted, but recognizable as _his_. Steve felt his heart sink. 

_He knew. Of course he knew. He must have seen your file before he came here._

It was the coolest possible exchange, a neutral acknowledgment, but nothing more. They had met as strangers and essentially that was what they still were to each other.

Two strangers who knew each other by reputation thrown together by the mission.

The icy cold of his nightmares seemed to creep into his body as he and Iron Man pulled Loki along to the jet, exchanging no more pleasantries. 

That Loki went so quietly didn't sit well with Steve, and he watched for signs that something was wrong. He watched Agent Romanoff secure him under Iron Man's watchful gaze, watched the two people nod at each other tersely. He knew Romanoff had “evaluated” Tony and he could feel the tension between them.

“Keep an eye on him, please,” Romanoff said finally, more to Stark than Steve, before she slid back into the pilot seat.

“Only because you ask so nicely,” Tony said and started to remove his helmet.

“You just want to hitch a ride,” she shot back.

“Why would I need that? Doing you a favor here.”

Steve kept his eyes trained on Loki. It wouldn't do to let his attention wander when the two other people capable of keeping him in check were distracting each other. That was it. It wasn't that he was trying not to _look_ at Tony and see “Henry”.

Of course, it was stupid.

This was the man he'd slept with.

He pulled back his cowl and noticed Tony looking without even attempting not to stare. Their eyes met and Steve felt his mouth go dry. But Tony's face remained an unreadable mask. Then he walked over and stood beside Steve, eyes stubbornly fastened on Loki. You could have cut the tension in the air with a knife and that wasn't all because they were waiting for their prisoner to make it hard on them.

At some point he and Stark had to clear the air between them.

After the mission. There was no room for that now.

“I don't like it,” Steve admitted in a low voice and shared his reservations about Loki. Something here was off and he could put his finger on it.

“What? Rock of ages giving up so easily?” Tony pointedly kept staring at Loki.

“I don't remember it being that easy. This guy packs a wallop.” He'd been the one taking the punches after all. Something about that was off too. That Loki had just stepped down when Iron Man arrived. He hadn't even tried to fight or resist him. Too easy.

He looked over his shoulder to where the Asgardian was sitting too calm, too alert.

Tony was also not turning to Steve when he said: “Still, you are pretty _spry_ for an older fellow.” And while the voice was level, Steve could _hear_ him bristling.

The innuendo wasn't _friendly_ , too neutral and tense to be friendly. He turned a searching gaze on Tony and he – standing a little taller than Steve with the armor on – turned too to meet his gaze. 

Steve recognized a poker face when he saw one. The handsome features were schooled into the most business-like expression, but he was testing Steve.

“What's your thing, Pilates?”

“What?”

“It's like calisthenics. You might have missed a couple of things. Doing time as a Capsicle.”

He gritted his teeth. He'd expected the hostility. It still felt like a punch to the gut. 

“Fury didn't tell me he was calling you in,” he said, and he wanted it to sound like a challenge and not like an apology.

Tony didn't look impressed. There was nothing of the warmth of that night in the brown eyes now. “Now, now,” Tony said. “I think Fury has as many secrets as you'd expect. And I'm sure you don't tell him what you're up to all the time either. Or did he know? Is this the new plan? Now that Pepper is...”

Distrust.

Steve could read _that_ clear as day.

Under the calm surface Tony was bristling with anger.

He was about to stop this right here and now, because it wasn't the place or time to have it out or apologize, when thunder and lightning put a spectacular end to it in the form of another Asgardian.

* * *

Saying he was out of his depth would be an extreme understatement. He listened to what Thor had to say, what Loki told Fury, he watched Tony – not in armor, but in terribly nice suit and tie breathe in and talk much too fast about things that went right over Steve's head although he tried his best to follow.

Information would be vital if he was going to of any use here.

But it looked more and more like this wouldn't be his fight.

And Tony only gave him hostile glances and avoided saying another word to him. He and Banner seemed to speak the same language though and Steve didn't want to admit that he felt a pang of jealousy spike.

Not because he had any claim to Tony – nor was he sure right now that wanted to have one – but because apparently these two men at least knew why they were here and were finding allies among strangers. He stayed out of their way, but followed to watch.

He saw Tony throw the suit jacket over a chair and stared. He remembered the way Tony had very carefully put his suit jacket over the chair in the hotel room.

When Tony loosened his tie, he suddenly froze.

_What the hell is he doing?_

Banner wasn't even looking. He was busy talking too fast, explaining what he had already looked into and tried.

Then Tony unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of it, revealing another shirt beneath.

“Do you always wear so many things?” Banner asked, absentmindedly.

Tony tapped the metal in the middle of his chest. “If I don't want to come across like a sad imitation of a bedside lamp, I'd better.”

That night Tony had been nervous about Steve seeing the arc reactor. Now he joked about it like it was nothing. Banner nodded, as if his mind had already moved on to the next thing – and Steve felt his hackles rise as he watched them.

And the longer he listened to Tony talking, the more he felt his hackles rise.

Then he watched him _poke_ Banner and interfered.

And in his anger he finally, for a second or so, managed to hold Tony's attention. The man started to move, his hands finding something to do immediately. From up close, Steve could see the light blue glow of the arc reactor shine through Tony's shirt and his eyes involuntarily flicked to it. “Don't get your hopes up,” Tony said flippantly.

It was the most direct acknowledgment of their night together he had yet given.

Steve gritted his teeth so hard that his jaw hurt.

“Listen,” he said.

“Better things to do,” Tony cut him off.

The anger – the kind of anger that had been with him rose with every second. “Yeah, I'll keep that in mind next time,” Steve shot back.

They were not going to have it out in front of Banner – but they found things to argue about. _How did he hide his wickedness for one whole night?_

“I think we need to talk,” he announced when Banner was out of earshot and tried to keep the anger from his voice. The longer he thought about it, the more he recognized the anger behind Tony's calm exterior.

“I think I made very clear what my stance is towards men in flag suits, _Steve_ ,” Tony hissed and made no attempt to hide his anger. “Was the ice so cold that you had to...”

“No wonder you think everyone wants you because of who you are,” Steve hissed back. “You're full of yourself.”

“You weren't complaining when I allowed you to fuck me,” Tony hissed and shook Steve off.

“I wouldn't have if I'd know who...”

“Ah,” Tony said. “Likewise. Bye bye.” He walked back to Banner and pointedly ignored Steve while his program was running to figure out what Fury was hiding.

In the end they stood toe to toe in a room full of arguing people, every insult hitting right where it hurt the most. “Everything that's special about you came from a bottle,” Tony said and sounded eerily calm, but his eyes were what chilled Steve, but the anger – the hot searing anger made it worse.

“I heard no complains until now,” he shot back, sure he wanted nothing more than to hurt. “I knew men who were worth 10 of you.”

And things only went downhill from there.

* * *

There really was no time for personal conversations, or sorting things out after. Nobody was discussing how Loki had manipulated them or how the scepter had caused discord and strain. Suddenly they were fighting side by side, still on edge, but taking each other's cues.

They kept the Helicarrier in the air, but at a cost.

Tony's mask was still in place – not the golden one of the armor, but the blank expressionless one he'd worn ever since he'd pulled off the helmet in the skies over Germany. But Coulson's death rattled him and Steve wanted to offer support – and he had no idea how it happened.

“Divide and conquer,” Tony said. “That was his point.”

Suddenly, they were talking strategy.

Suddenly, they had a plan.

Suddenly, he wasn't a man who had been thrust from war to peace, but from war into alien invasion.

Suddenly, they weren't acting alone anymore, even though Iron Man went ahead to reach Stark Tower before Loki could see his plans through to the end.

Suddenly, they were a team.

And they made a good team.

Then a nuclear warhead was sent their way and Iron Man flew it into a closing portal. As he helplessly, breathlessly watched it happen, he wondered if that was how Peggy had felt when he'd told her he'd put down the plane in the ice somewhere, because there was no other way.

“Stark, you know that's a one-way trip?” he asked into the communicator, but received no answer.

 _Tony,_ he thought. _I only just got to know you._

Then the tiny spot that was Iron Man was gone and didn't reappear. The dark spot that was an open doorway shrank and only then did they see the armor falling to earth uncontrolled.

For a moment he was sure Tony wouldn't open his eyes again until the Hulk roared him back to consciousness.

“I hope you didn't kiss me,” Tony said, breathless and looked right at Steve. “That was a one time deal.”

“No,” Steve said and all the weight of the world fell from his shoulders. He knew Thor and Hulk were standing right there beside them and Widow and Hawkeye and who know how many SHIELD agents were listening. “No, it wasn't. See, I was meant to meet a lady for a dance 70 year ago and that didn't work out so well. But a man told me to meet him for sandwiches barely a week ago and I think I'm taking him up on the offer.”

Tony let his head fall back to the street and it made a terrible sound as metal hit concrete. “You're still annoying. And bossy.”

“Been called worse.” He laughed.

There was still work to be done.

* * *

He woke up in another unfamiliar bed, something he’d sworn he wouldn’t make a habit of. Light was streaming in from floor to ceiling windows and everything still had the new smell.

Stark Tower.

He’d helped with cleanup, had watched Iron Man and Thor do some of the heavy lifting, worried that Tony was dead on his feet. Only when Tony had announced that he was going to check the structural damage to the tower, had he felt relieved, taking it for a shorthand for: “I’m going home.”

“The guest rooms should be fine, by the way. I don’t think Loki had time to try them out.” Tony had said to him, mask up, but he’d looked away fast when Steve had actually tried to read his expression. In a louder voice Tony had said: “That’s an invitation to everyone who wants a comfortable bed.”

Thor had been amiable, and Barton had agreed to drop by immediately.

And here he was. Obviously he’d also taken Tony up on the invitation. He’d been too tired to get back to his own place and he’d not been in the mood to deal with any arrangements SHIELD could have offered. 

So he was here.

Inside Stark Tower.

He vaguely remembered Tony - a terrible bruise forming on his cheekbone, hair freshly washed - telling him he could call up his AI if he needed something. He stumbled out of bed in nothing but underwear and a white muscle shirt and found the panel in the wall.

“Jarvis?”

“Captain Rogers,” the AI stated. “How may I be of service?”

“What time is it?”

“It’s 7 PM. You slept for 3 hours.”

“Is… Is Tony here?” He half expected to hear the computerized voice announce that Iron Man was half-way across the country or across the globe.

“Sir is inspecting the damage done to the main condo.”

“Good,” he said. At least he knew how to get there.

He looked back around the room and realized there was nothing to wear but the dirty, torn and bloodied Captain America uniform and that wasn’t really his first choice of apparel. What he wanted to talk to Tony about called for Steve Rogers.

As if the machine had read his thoughts JARVIS said: “Fresh clothing has been provided. A package has been left on your doorstep.”

He peeked out the door and without fail there was a small laundry basket. Tony had thought of everything. Steve felt a pang of guilt when he thought of how they’d argued, and how for a moment he’d thought Tony was dead and there’d never be a chance of getting this right.

A sense of utter calm settled over him when he got dressed and then took a moment to look out the huge windows to see the devastation that had been wrought on his city. His home.

Oh, god, yes, he was home. He finally felt like he was home.

And now he was going to ask Tony if that invitation to bump into each other was only for Steve, the too handsome stranger from the bar, or if most unpopular Captain America had a chance too.

He would ask at least.

Get things sorted.

If Tony decided that despite flirting and incredible sex, he wasn’t interested, then alright, he’d back off.

This was how he did things, straight and without subterfuge.

He took the elevator to the upper level and got out, between dust and rubble. Loki had truly left his mark of chaos on Tony’s living room. And even from here he could see Tony sitting at the bar a smartphone pressed to his ear.

Under the circumstances he wasn’t sure he was allowed a grin, but he could hold it in. Had “Henry” watched him like this before he’d approached him at the gala, standing somewhere in the shadows to watch before he made up his mind? He had wondered about that. He leaned inside the open hallway door that led to the elevator and observed Tony’s hands flying over a tablet fast. He was typing or drawing or making notes and he was doing so at a fast pace.

Occasionally he made a noise.

He had been about to clear his throat and draw Tony’s attention. Now he was privy to half of a conversation and felt like he was eavesdropping.

“Yeah, the Tower stands and has gotten the all clear. It’s not going to crumble around me in the next two minutes. The damage isn’t as bad as it looked at first glance.”

He hummed while the person on the other side was talking.

“I know, Pep. My pride took a hit, okay?”

He nodded.

“I called Rhodey already. He’s a worse mother hen than you. Do you think you’d be able to get through if he hadn’t already been appeased?”

“No, he’s still in the Middle East.”

“No, I can manage alone.”

“I’m sure.”

“Pepper… We’re not..”

“I know, okay? I’m sorry too. I’m really sorry. But you are safer on the west coast for now and it’s… easier… for both of us.”

With a pang of terrible regret Steve realized Tony was talking to Pepper Potts - the woman he’d been in a relationship with. Were they still trying to make it work? Should Steve just slink away and leave it at that?

“No, I’m okay. Pepper, really. I’m sorry you’re worried, but this is for the best. I know you think I’m killing myself, but… This was the right thing to do. Where would we be if I’d allow every single alien out there to come pay a visit? It would be chaos. So only one a time and Thor won the lottery this time.”

“I know you didn’t sign-up to be the girlfriend of a superhero. It's not our fault.”

“It’s okay.” Tony sighed. “No, really it is. We’re still friends.”

“Don’t worry.”

Tony went silent for a moment and Steve really felt like he should put off this talk and walk away. He felt stupid now, in his jeans and his checkered button down.

“Captain America? Yeah, he is cool. Don’t tell him I said that. He’s also obnoxious, annoying and too handsome.”

“No, _not_ like me. Very decidedly _not_. The exact opposite in fact.”

“That’s not funny.”

His voice went quieter again and Steve stood frozen in place, unable to walk away although it seemed like the polite thing to do. “Look, it’s fine, really. I’m not alone here and I walked away with a few dents, that’s all and… there is… Do you remember when I told you a few weeks ago that I had hooked up with the guy who looked like Cap? The too handsome one?”

There was a marked pause and Steve’s throat went dry suddenly, his hands were cold.

“Don’t laugh at me. That’s not nice.”

Pepper was very markedly laughing at him and he could see that Tony didn’t really seem to mind it.

“Yeah, things like that only happen to me. On the bright side, can you imagine what my old man would have said if he’d heard that his son had debauched Captain America? Would’ve given him a heart attack.”

Steve knew this had gone too far. Although it was difficult with his dry throat, he made a small noise to draw Tony’s attention.

And at that exact moment, like he’d chosen to do so, the mechanical voice of JARVIS announced: “Captain Rogers is here to see you, sir.”

Tony nearly jumped out of his skin and then looked over to where Steve was standing.

“I did part of the debauching myself,” Steve said and tried to keep his voice level. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Sorry for eavesdropping. This building seems to be missing some walls. And I don’t mean the holes everywhere.”

“Har, har,” Tony said and then said into the phone. “I’m sorry, Pepper. Can I call you back? Next time there’s an alien invasion I promise to not fall out of any skies. Once burned, twice shy. Okay, bye. Call me tomorrow.”

“She’s not going to be pleased with you, sir,” JARVIS intoned.

“Ah,” Tony said. “She loves me, but she was rarely ever _pleased_ with me.”

Steve walked closer. “So I take it that didn’t work out?”

“No, not really. I went alone to a charity gala we were both invited to, you know? Because we had separated two days before that.”

His voice seemed to fail him, but he took the bar stool beside Tony and met his eyes. “Oh,” he said, and “I’m sorry,” but apparently he was bad at this, because he was probably grinning from ear to ear.

“You know nobody prepared me for this. Nobody had any stories to tell of your prowess in bed - or your delectable tastes in men.”

“I have perfect taste in men,” Steve said. “When I’m not with a gal at the time. And admittedly, women didn’t exactly flock to scrawny, weakly Steve from Brooklyn.”

“Their loss,” Tony said and propped his face up in one hand to watch Steve through half lidded eyes. “Look at you now. I bet they all want you now.”

“No,” he said. “And strangely enough I met this guy at a bar who though I looked too handsome to be wooed.”

“I wasn’t wooing you. I was extending an offer of a night of hot sex and I don’t think there were any complaints. That’s not good enough for you?”

Suddenly, things were simple: They were bantering. Comfortable and without aggression.

Steve smiled.

Perhaps things were falling into place now.

“I’d offer you a drink,” Tony said and extended a hand towards the broken bottles. “I’d hate for you to die because you drank glass though.”

“Oh, never mind that. I can’t get drunk anyway.”

“What a shame,” Tony said. “It was at the top of my corruption list.”

“How about you let me take you out to dinner instead? You paid for the hotel room and...”

“That’s adorable, _Steve_ , but I'm Tony Stark. You might not have heard, but I can afford the whole fucking hotel if I want to have it. And look here: I just came out of a relationship that I tried very hard to make work. I'm not sure _this_ ,” he indicated Steve and then himself, “is a good idea. If I had known...” He trailed off and then looked at Steve markedly, reminding him that Tony had not for a moment left any doubt that he would have walked away from the bar if he'd known the truth.

He knew Tony was goading him. He knew there was a marked difference between the man he'd met for the first time and the man he'd met for the second time. He _knew_ now that Tony was much more than met the eye. There was baggage, too.

But that would go perfectly with his own.

Now he needed to convince Tony of of that.

“I'm stubborn,” he warned. “I'll ask again.”

“You're so old-fashioned,” Tony told him gruffly. “Dating!”

He knew this was Tony trying to play this down, to keep him at arm's length, to make it about the sex and nothing else. The worry what their involvement meant for a team that had only just and very uneasily come together to save the world was something they shared. But Steve would be damned, if he didn't at least try.

Prickly mask aside – Steve thought that Tony was afraid that he was in too deep already.

Because Tony cared.

Tony had shown himself to be someone who cared a lot while denying it constantly, playing it down, hiding behind masks.

He liked that.

The layers.

There were parts of Tony that he'd have to unravel slowly, new sides of him that maybe with patience he could coax out.

It sounded like a long term project. _Look at that, Rogers. This is what happens when you try for a casual fling. Bucky would be so proud of you. Or actually he’d never stop laughing._

“I'll ask again, Tony, until you tell me it's really not what you want,” he warned. “Then I’ll stop until you tell me I can try again.”

“You don't have to date me, just because you fucked me, Cap. That's not how it works. In fact, if it is about the sex then...”

He leaned over and pressed kiss on Tony's cheekbone, just over the red-purple bruise that was forming there. “It's not about the sex,” he said huskily. “It's about the whole package.”

Tony's mouth closed with a snap and he glowered at Steve. “You are annoying. And corny. I don’t like people who are more annoying than me.”

“That's something we established before all of this started.” He reached for Tony's hand and squeezed his fingers reassuringly. Then he pulled it up to his mouth and kissed his bruised knuckles, watching his reaction as he did so.

[ Art by Caz](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/cazdraws/168163362281)

Startled, Tony even forgot to pull his hand away. “This is a mistake, Steve.”

“If it's a mistake, then it's one we're making together.”

Brown eyes held his gaze and Steve refused to look away, waiting for Tony to come to a decision. “All right, maybe we can go out sometime.” he finally said with a roll of the eyes. “But if it's a mistake, it's all on you. I want it on the record that I tried to dissuade you.”

“I can live with that,” Steve said and smiled, finally pressing a kiss to Tony's lips.

“It's nice to finally properly meet you, _Tony_.”

“Shut up, _Steve._ Before I come to my senses.”

“Oh, you won't,” Steve promised. _I won't let you._

**Author's Note:**

> And for those who want to know what that picture with Tony and Henry Hellrung looked liked. It must have been something like this: 
> 
> Small epilogue will follow as soon as I had more sleep and some time to edit it. \o/


End file.
